


Try Try Again

by Rachello344



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Peter Hale, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternative Werewolf Lore, Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Feels, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is John, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:21:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25419124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rachello344/pseuds/Rachello344
Summary: Instead of throwing the molotov cocktail, Stiles hesitates and finds himself accidentally accepting a place in Peter's pack.  Their Pack is unconvential and more than a little broken, but for the first time, Stiles feels like he belongs.  Now he just needs to make sure they live long enough to make their Pack something worth belonging to.
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 387
Kudos: 1341





	1. Change of Plans

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this at work, and I don't really know yet how long this is going to be. I have a direction, and I have a goal, so we'll see where this one goes.
> 
> Wish me luck! And if you guys have any comments or questions, I'd love to hear them!

Stiles hesitated, fingers clenching around the bottle's neck, chemicals still stinging his nose, eyes fixed on the rampaging monster circling his friends. He could still feel Peter's breath on his wrist, could see the curious gleam to his eyes. 

_Though this be madness, there is method in it_ , Stiles thought. He heard someone shout his name. He had one perfect moment, no more than a beat, to throw his molotov cocktail.

Throw the bottle and watch Peter Hale go up in flames for a second time.

Stiles couldn't.

His eyes met Peter's, and between one breath and the next, Peter was... running away?

Stiles' ears were ringing, he realized. His chest felt tight and strange.

People were shouting back and forth and back again. Stiles couldn't fully comprehend the words though. It looked like Scott was stopped by Allison, one of her hands gripping his elbow, her head shaking.

Peter knew what he planned to do. Peter knew he chose not to do it. Why couldn't Stiles do it? What did that say about him?

Jackson crossed in front of him and frowned down at him, almost sneering. "Stilinski, what the fuck? Did you freeze?"

"Did you miss?" Stiles snapped back. Rage rose up his throat, choking him. He shook his head, tried to shake off the foreign anger. Jackson was a dick, but he was hardly worth it. "Sorry. I think I'm not feeling well." There was something tangled up behind his chest, and it _hurt._ Was that where the anger came from?

It hurt like his mom dying, like his mom hating him and wanting him dead, like his dad drinking himself half to death and overworking to finish the job. It hurt like Scott leaving him behind, leaving him out, like Scott kissing Lydia knowing how he felt about her.

Stiles pressed a hand over his sternum. Hurt and sorrow and fear and loathing, and beneath it all, family, belonging, and something like hope.

Stiles looked up, and his eyes met Derek's from across the clearing. Derek's eyes flashed blue in what, for a delirious second, Stiles thought might be acknowledgment.

Acknowledging what, he wasn't sure he knew or even wanted to know.

"Dude, you look like you might puke." Jackson actually sounded worried. Probably warranted then. He felt clammy and weird.

"Feeling about the same," Stiles allowed absently. Maybe if he puked, he'd feel a little better? Could you vomit feelings?

"What are you even doing here, Stiles?" Scott asked. "It's not safe!"

"You're here, aren't you?" he returned, dismissive. Stiles pulled the sleeve of his dress shirt down to wipe off the bottle. He didn't want his fingerprints at a crime scene. If Peter was willing to leave, that meant Kate Argent was already dead.

"Yeah, but I'm not like you, Stiles. Not anymore." Scott's voice broke. "Not ever again, unless I can kill Peter."

Stiles stifled his own irritation at Scott's continued rejection of objectively the coolest thing to ever happen to either of them. Something in Stiles' chest was shifting and stirring at Scott's upset, and that took precedence.

Guilt, he thought. Dishonesty. Derek wasn't looking at either of them. He was looking fully away.

"Hey, Mr. Argent," Stiles said, tipping his head to one side. "You know if killing the Alpha that turned you will cure you?"

Mr. Argent glared, but reluctantly shook his head. "Enough hunters have tried; it either takes an extremely complicated process, or it's impossible."

"So, if Scott killed Peter?"

Argent's glare turned colder, which Stiles didn't think was possible. Impressive. "He'd become an Alpha."

Scott turned betrayed puppy eyes on Derek, who was still avoiding any eye contact. Such a bad liar. No commitment to his story. They'd need to work on that. "But you said!"

Scott's gullibility was, of course, a lost cause.

Derek shook his head. "It's a story. No one knows if it would work. Most bitten wolves see the bite as a gift. It's... It's a story used to dissuade a new Beta from killing their Alpha."

"If you lose your fancy new fangs for it, better not try for a power grab?" Stiles guessed.

Derek nodded, shooting a cautious glance at Argent. Argent seemed unsurprised and uninterested. So he already knew about the story.

Stiles looked around, skimming over the people present. Scott, Allison, Derek, Argent, and Jackson. Kate Argent's corpse, probably in the house. Peter Hale, somewhere in the woods, or heading back into town, licking his wounds.

"So, uh, what now?" Stiles asked, clapping his hands once. "Argents broke the code, Hales followed it, justice has been done, and a survivor of a supernatural hate crime and perpetrator of a vigilante spree killing has escaped," he summarized. "Do we all just go home or what? Should someone call the cops? Not me, obviously, my dad _will_ kill me."

"I need to discuss the... developments with my wife." Argent sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "We make decisions together. That being said..." He turned and faced Derek. "For what my sister did... You have my regrets. I will see to it that you and your Alpha are left alone." He hesitated. "Or, that's what I'd like to say. The Patriarch will have final say. But that's the position I'll be supporting."

Derek's jaw clenched, but he nodded once. "I'll hold you to that. We have our laws, too, Argent. You'd do well to remember that."

Stiles bit his tongue. He had _so many_ questions.

Argent turned. "Allison. With me. You get to explain to your mother what you were thinking tonight, and then I get to tell her everything else."

Allison, for a moment, looked like a normal teenager again, instead of a girl who'd just been through an undoubtedly traumatic event. She bit her lip, like she was already trying to think up how to weasel out of the trouble she was in. "How long will I be grounded for?"

"Until that question is nothing more than a faint memory," Argent said.

"Yeah," she sighed, "that's what I figured."

Scott took a halting step after her, but Derek put a firm hand on his shoulder. Scott shook it off angrily.

"Allison!" he said, "I'll call you?"

"Not likely," Argent snapped. Allison's eyes were soft and sad as she got into her dad's car. No one said anything until they were gone.

Scott watched the car leave until even his vision couldn't possibly see it.

"So if I get the bite, will I turn into a monster like that?" Jackson asked, breaking the tension.

Derek raised his eyebrows at Stiles. Stiles shrugged, snickering.

"Doubtful, dude. Scott never has."

"Why would you even _want_ it?" Scott muttered. "It just leads to people wanting you dead."

"And super strength? Speed? Claws?" Jackson's smirk looked bemused. "Just because you aren't interested, doesn't mean others wouldn't be. Hell, if it could even make _you_ popular, imagine what it would do for me?"

Derek was still considering Jackson as he and Scott argued the merits of lycanthropy back and forth. The knot behind Stiles' sternum felt curious now, instead of guilty. An improvement, and more confirmation, not that Stiles needed it at this point.

"Hey Jackson, drive Scott home? I need Derek to drive me to my Jeep." Stiles grinned, setting the wiped bottle down, and already walking toward Derek. "This way you can keep arguing about whether or not Jackson should become a werewolf."

Stiles was surprised when they both started to comply before thinking to argue with him. Before they could get much further than voicing a protest, Stiles was following Derek to his car and sliding into the passenger seat.

Derek peeled out before either of them could decide what to do about it.

Stiles' phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Allison," he announced when he unlocked the screen. "She says her dad will be by before dawn to collect the body."

Why was she texting _him_? Had she noticed something? Had her dad? Or was she just not allowed to text Scott?

Did Scott have his phone back?

Derek nodded. "Peter will have bisected it by then. So that's fine."

Stiles texted back an acknowledgment before putting his phone away. "Bisect her, like what the hunters did to Laura?"

"What better way to send our message than in their code?" Derek's voice was almost a snarl. The knot behind his chest pulsed with malice. Stiles could feel his own vicious satisfaction looping through the tangle.

"Ding dong, the witch is dead."

Derek snorted, and the knot returned to its normal. Derek had a sense of humor after all.

Stiles watched the trees pass darkly by outside his window. He had so many questions, he hardly knew where to start.

"Am I pack?" he blurted, completely without tact.

"Seems like it," Derek answered easily. "I'm surprised you could feel it. Is that why you didn't kill him?"

Stiles hesitated, but inevitably shook his head. "No, I think... I became pack by _not_ killing him, if that makes sense." He pressed his hand back to his sternum. His voice was quiet when he asked, "Is it supposed to hurt?"

For a long moment, Derek said nothing. Stiles could feel his regret in the center of his chest, swirling without end.

"No," he said, finally. "No, it isn't."

Stiles closed his eyes. Betrayal and pain and longing and absence. All buried beneath guilt and despair. He couldn't tell what was his, what was Derek's, and what was Peter's. It was all the same.

"Do you hate him?"

"I should." Derek's voice remained soft. "Sometimes I do. But he was my favorite uncle. Laura never liked him much, but I hated to leave him all alone here. She made it an order, and I couldn't refuse."

"She was your sister."

"And my Alpha." Derek shook his head. "I loved her, but I didn't always agree with her. I don't..." He sighed. "I don't understand why. Everyone else I knew the reason, but even if she never liked him, he loved her."

"Did you ask?"

"I didn't want to, and I never got a chance anyway." Derek turned toward the parking garage without Stiles saying anything or pointing the way. "If you're serious about this... You're not exactly entering a stable pack. Peter, he's insane."

"Got away with a few too many murders for me to agree with you there. Crazy people can't plan like this." Stiles thought of his mom, whose crimes were limited by opportunity and chance. An isolated stairwell, a bathtub, a hallway before Dad was home. "And you said he needed a pack to stabilize. At least two. That's us now, right? Since Scott said no, and I said yes?"

"You're not even going to think about this, are you." Derek didn't even sound disappointed, just resigned. Derek turned into the correct garage and drove up the ramp. "You're just going to join a broken pack without a moment's pause."

Stiles didn't know how to explain it. Peter scared him, of course he did, but the pain in his chest, the bond slowly settling into place, it felt right. It felt like it belonged there. Like _he_ belonged. Peter had offered him a place, and Stiles accepted it on his own terms.

It was a terrible idea. It could only lead to destruction. Calamity. Ruin.

" _With_ a moment's pause," Stiles corrected. "That pause was what got me in." He beamed until Derek sighed. "And besides, dude, come on, I'm not about to cut off just anyone's arm, all right? I don't like blood. That makes you special, sourwolf. And now it's official." He turned the full force of his widest grin on Derek. "You're stuck with me now."

"Crazy fucking teenagers." He pulled into the space beside Stiles' Jeep and parked. Stiles waited. "But... thank you. For helping. And... for staying. I'm sorry we don't have a better pack bond to offer you. I don't know what you must be feeling, but it can't be pleasant."

"Not generally, but the gratitude feels nice." Stiles wanted to wrap himself up in the feeling. When was the last time he felt this appreciated? Down to his core? It was so warm and soft, he could just bundle himself up in it and never come back out.

Derek shot him an anxious look, and before Stiles could track the motion, a hand was rubbing over his buzzed head and down to give his neck a single squeeze.

His skin buzzed at the contact. The feeling of gratitude, of _appreciation_ increased ten-fold. "That was weird." Stiles blinked, heart beating harder in his chest, cheeks flushing. "Do it again?"

Derek huffed, but obligingly rubbed his hand over his head, almost petting him. Stiles felt like he was floating, and also like he might cry.

The knot in his chest loosened and relaxed. There was still a lot tied up in there, but it didn't feel as immediately pressing, almost like Derek had draped a blanket over it all.

"I'm gonna want you to do that all the time, I think," Stiles decided. "And it doesn't even feel like a sex thing."

"Good?" Derek wrinkled his nose. "It's a pack thing, not a sex thing."

"Makes sense. Thanks for the ride." Stiles looked at his Jeep. "Know anything about hotwiring cars?"

Derek opened and closed his mouth.

"Actually, I do. And I'll help you, but no. I won't tell you why I know."

"Damn. Reading my mind?" he grinned.

"Just your face. Now, come on. Let's get this over with."

Stiles followed him out, still buzzing with untapped energy, warmth flooding through him.

* * *

Stiles tucked his screwdriver into the glove compartment, and stepped out of his car. It was nearly dawn, and his dad's cruiser still wasn't back.

Stiles frowned, but trudged up the front walk, yawning hugely. He unlocked his door, felt a hand grip his shoulder and shove him inside, the door clicking shut and locking behind him and his assailant.

Except that the knot in his chest was loosening again, and his panicked pulse was quickly slowing back to baseline. Something in him seemed to sing at the physical contact.

Peter's thumb brushed his neck. Stiles tipped his head slightly to give him more room.

"I can't stay long," Peter said, rubbing his cheek along the top of Stiles's head. "I won't be able to show my face for at least another week, if not longer, but I wanted to make sure to mark you before I disappear."

He pulled a step back, and Stiles just managed to stop from throwing himself at his Alpha. Peter was smiling when Stiles met his gaze.

Stiles still felt floaty amd dazed from the contact, but his brain was running a mile a minute in a tight circle, unable to think past one stumbling block.

"I could have killed you."

"I know." Peter looked pleased.

"I could decide to kill you again."

Peter's smile didn't waver, pride winding through the knot behind his sternum.

"I'm counting on it." He rubbed a hand over Stiles' head, fingers massaging the scalp. "You'll keep me on my toes. I'd offer you the bite again, but you don't need it, do you? Not now that you have the thing you most wanted from becoming a wolf."

 _Protection. Safety._ _Belonging_. "I wanted to be Pack."

"And now you are, clever boy." Peter caught his chin, tipping his face up until his throat was bared. "I wonder, will you bring me Scott? The Whittemore boy? Lydia Martin?"

"You want a bigger pack?"

Stiles could feel greed and something ruthless and calculating curling around his heart.

"There are still Argents to deal with." Peter released his chin. "Whatever Christopher thinks, the Patriarch will not take such an insult lying down." Peter's smile sent a hot chill through Stiles.

Puppetmaster, Stiles thought. Kate didn't act alone.

"Okay. But you'll keep anyone I bring you safe." Stiles wouldn't lose anyone. None of them could stand to lose more family. Not after what they'd all been through.

"Of course." Peter's eyes flashed red. Stiles bared his throat on instinct. "I protect what's mine, Stiles." His pleasure sang through the bond between them. "That's all the time we have for now, dear boy. Time for bed."

Stiles stepped back into Peter's space, wrapping his arms around his chest. Stiles pressed his nose into Peter's shoulder. He smelled like the Preserve. The bond settled further than ever with the prolonged contact.

"Good boy." Peter gripped Stiles' neck and squeezed firmly. Stiles thought his legs might give out, but he barely managed to keep himself upright, leaning harder into Peter.

"Gonna freak out about this in the morning," Stiles mumbled into his shoulder.

"That's okay. Derek will be around to help you settle." Peter released his neck and pulled away, turning Stiles toward the stairs with a slight push. "Now, bed."

Stiles hummed, and obeyed. Distantly, he felt something else stirring within him, but it was gone by the time his head hit the pillow.

* * *

"Stiles?" a voice said, a small hand shaking his shoulder. He stirred, confused. His neck ached, and he didn't know why. "Stiles, Lydia would like to speak with you."

Stiles bolted upright, startling the nurse back a step. "She's awake?" He was in the hospital. Of course his neck hurt from laying in the shitty plastic chairs like he was.

"She is. And she wants to talk to you." The woman frowned, disapproving. "You have until the doctor is ready to run more tests. She's still recovering, so don't overdo it."

"Yes, ma'am!" Stiles hopped to his feet and hurried into Lydia's private room. Lydia was still hooked up to a number of monitors and an IV. Seeing the dark circles under her eyes, the pallor of her skin, made something inside him twinge. His hands clenched uselessly at his sides.

At Lydia's gesture, he closed the door behind himself and took a seat beside her bed. She considered him in silence.

"My nurse said you've been here every day after school since I was admitted. And Jackson said that you called him and told him where he could find me." Lydia's eyes were dark. Stiles faltered. He wasn't expecting an interrogation so soon. "You saw it, didn't you. The thing that attacked me."

Stiles didn't know what he was supposed to say. Scott wouldn't want her to know. Probably neither would Allison. But Peter hadn't said anything. No orders, no commands, no directives.

Stiles was pretty sure that meant he was allowed to do what he wanted.

"I did call him, and I did see." He wanted to tell her the truth.

"And?"

"Did Jackson tell you anything else about that night?"

Lydia hesitated. "No. He told the doctor that you called him. Not me. I haven't seen him yet."

"Right." Stiles looked down at his hands, rubbing his wrist. "The thing that attacked you was an alpha werewolf. He let me call Jackson in exchange for me cooperating with him to save his Betas, um, his Pack." Stiles risked a glance up to see whether or not she believed him.

Her expression was glacial. "Do you take me for a fool, Stilinski?"

"No. Never. That's why I'm telling you the truth." Stiles leaned forward. "The Alpha bit Scott and turned him into a werewolf. He was what was chasing us in the school that night."

"You're _insane_." But she didn't sound as self-assured as he was used to.

"And Scott's a former asthmatic who's on first line." He narrowed his eyes. "You really think his chronic asthma just _got better?_ We both know you're smarter than that, Lydia."

Lydia's façade cracked. She was afraid, he realized. She was _scared_. And he was an asshole. Shit.

Stiles raised his hands, backtracking. "I'm sorry, I'm not going about this the right way. We don't have much time right now to talk, but if you want to know more, I can tell you everything that's been happening over the last several weeks." Stiles let his eyes drop to her abdomen.

"I was told that the bite either turns or kills, but you're clearly alive, and if you still have the wound, you haven't turned, either."

Lydia's hands curled around the sheet. "What does that mean?"

"I don't know. I didn't know someone could potentially be immune. I'm new to all this, but clearly you're special." Stiles scratched the back of his head. "I've started looking into it, but my source doesn't know much either."

Lydia closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. "Right. If you find anything, let me know. Otherwise, I'll find you when I'm ready. But for now, I want to be alone."

"You have my number." Stiles shot her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. "And Lydia? I'm glad you survived."

"Yeah," she said quietly, "me, too."

* * *

Stiles flopped backward on the grass. "Seriously, Derek, I thought the bite turned or killed! What's with this third option shit?"

Derek huffed. "How the hell should I know? Ask Peter when he gets back. He knows more of our history than I was ever taught."

Stiles groaned, flapping his arms about. "When will he be _back_ , though? It's been ages! And does he even know about Grandpa Argent being in town?"

"It hasn't even been a full week, Stiles. And of course he does." Derek sounded irritated. He _felt_ pissed. "You think I'm gonna keep things from him when this town is infested with _Argents_?"

"No, you're right, I'm sorry." The pack bond in his chest lost some of its edge. Stiles rolled onto his stomach. "I'm not doubting you, I'm just feeling antsy. He's been gone for way too long." The knot in his chest felt worse than when it first formed, tight and irritated.

"I don't like it either, but he insisted that it was important. He's..." Derek sighed. "He said he's getting his affairs in order. Whatever that means."

" _Oh,_ no, no, that makes sense." Stiles rolled back over and found an interesting cloud to watch. It looked like a duck. "He was catatonic for years, he needs to make sure he can reenter society without anyone asking questions. The lack of scarring will also be a problem. Oh, plus he needs access to his accounts and any of his things that may have survived the fire. Did any of his things survive the fire?"

"Stiles." Derek interrupted.

"Yes?" Stiles tried to arch his neck to see Derek, but couldn't manage it. The duck cloud was now more of a whale.

"Do you ever stop thinking so hard about everything?" Derek sounded exasperated. He felt almost fond.

"Nope."

"How often does that get you in trouble?"

"Daily."

"Does it ever get you out of trouble?"

"I'm alive, aren't I?" Stiles grinned. "Scott wasn't figuring this shit out on his own, you know. And you weren't exactly helpful the first several times we met you."

"You accused me of murdering my sister." Derek pointed out. Stiles could hear the lift in his eyebrows.

"Which I apologized for. And I am sorry. I didn't have all the facts yet, and I was trying to keep Scott from getting killed." Stiles shrugged. "Next time, I won't involve the police immediately."

Derek snorted. "That's reassuring."

Stiles shrugged. "I can't give you much more here. This is what you've got, pal."

"I guess you'll just have to do."

Derek sat down on the grass beside him, scratching his scalp absently. Stiles pressed up into his hand, the knot in his chest loosening at the contact.

"How did Scott manage to skip out on all of the Pack instincts?" Stiles asked. "I mean, I feel like I'm touch starved, and it hasn't even been a week!"

Derek shrugged, his hand still resting on Stiles' head. "Some people take to it better than others, I guess."

Stiles hummed. Speaking of instincts. He hesitated. "I have... It's a weird question."

"Even for you?"

"Even for me." Stiles winced. "It's also embarrassing, so please don't make fun of me?"

"Fine." Derek squeezed his head as if to reassure him further.

"Okay, so like, I've been in love with Lydia Martin since the third grade. I... Do pack bonds..." He took a breath. "I don't think I'm in love with her anymore, and it's kind of freaking me out a little. Pack bonds wouldn't completely change how I feel about someone, would they?" Stiles turned his head to look up at Derek.

Derek looked befuddled. "Um. No. Not usually. Your feelings for her are just gone?"

Stiles nodded. "I still like her, like as a person, and I care about her, but until a week ago, if I was in the same room with her, my brain was just the Lydia Martin Channel. I could hardly speak to her, I was so caught up in it. But when I saw her, things felt... normal? Abnormally normal. Like, I felt a connection to her, but it wasn't... It wasn't the same at all. I had a _conversation_ with her. Like a normal person!"

"A connection... like a Pack bond?"

Stiles shook his head. "No, it wasn't... It wasn't the same as that either. There was just... something." He winced. "I'm sorry. I have no idea how I'm supposed to describe it. It's similar but different. Not as intense or... grounded? It felt wispier, I guess. Less physical?"

Derek dropped backwards, shifting until they were lying side by side. "I don't know. Peter might. I'll ask him about it, if you want. Next time I hear from him."

"Please." Stiles covered his face. "I don't think I can say all that again. Especially not to Peter."

"He might need to ask you questions." Derek bumped their shoulders together. "The bond you feel to us is physical?"

Stiles blinked, turned his head. "Yes? It's bodily, like, I feel it in my chest, like a tangled knot around my heart."

Derek didn't say anything, but he felt sad. After what felt like a long time, he said, "It shouldn't be tangled. I'm surprised, though, that it feels physical to you. I thought it might not, since you aren't a wolf."

Stiles pondered that. "Humans don't normally feel the bond this much?"

Derek shrugged. "One of my cousins, Maddy, she was human; she described the pack bonds as a song, something she could hear at the back of her mind when she needed the reassurance."

"Do you feel them in your chest, too?"

Derek shook his head. "I couldn't describe it. It's... It's different for wolves, I think. Bodily, but also not. Some people visualize the connections, but... I never learned how. I just feel them. Peter always teased me about it when I was a kid, said I was missing out."

Stiles perked up. "What does he visualize them as?"

Derek hesitated. "I don't know if it's still true, but... When I was young, he told me his pack bonds were stars."

Stiles flustered, but couldn't figure out why. He wanted to feel his pack bonds more consciously, figure out what he was experiencing more clearly.

"Do you think Peter would teach me how to visualize them better?"

"Yes," Derek answered quickly. "He'd probably give you anything you ask for."

"Really? Why?"

Derek faltered, looking perplexed by his own surety. "Why? I... Actually, I don't... I wasn't thinking when I answered. I don't know. I just know that it's true."

Stiles tucked the information away. It might be useful someday. It certainly wouldn't hurt, having an Alpha who would do as he asked because he asked.

"I'll ask him when he gets back, then." He'd need to make a list of things he wanted to ask at this rate.

For just how long was Peter going to be gone?


	2. Revelations of a Kind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After some delay, I've finally finished Chapter 2! I'm really excited to get this chapter out because it means I finally get to work on the really fun stuff. ;D I hope you guys enjoy it! As always, if you have any questions or comments, predictions even, I'd love to hear them!

Stiles fumbled for his phone blearily. Whoever was texting him at this time of night, right when he was finally about to fall asleep, better have a damn good reason for it.

_Sourwolf: what do you know about banshees?_

Stiles narrowed his eyes at the too bright screen. _Sourwolf._ The text was from Derek? At this time of night?

_Banshees?_

Stiles frowned, feeling regrettably more awake.

_Stiles: idk wailibg womsn, irksh folklore promaeily, harbingers of death and desturction_

_Stiles: why?_

_Sourwolf: might wanna start looking into them. peter's being cagey about it, but that's all he told me when i was asking about the things we talked about._

Stiles sat up. "Lydia," he breathed.

_Stiles: derek wtf is Lydia a BANSHEE???_

_Sourwolf: no idea. thought you'd want to know what peter told me tho_

_Stiles: DEREK HALE, I NEED ANSWERS_

_Sourwolf: tough luck, stilinski_

_Sourwolf: get some sleep. it's a school night_

_Stiles: YOU MONSTER. YOU KNOW HOW I AM. WHERE DO I FIND INFORMATION ON BANSHEES._

_Sourwolf: [Read: 1:59 a.m.]_

Stiles groaned when no reply seemed forthcoming. A banshee. A _banshee_? How was he supposed to weed out the truth from the fiction? Banshees were a common mythical figure!

He didn't want to have nothing for Lydia to sink her teeth into when he told her (unlike Derek), but how was he even supposed to get started?

It took quite a bit longer for Stiles to settle down to sleep, his mind chasing itself in endless circles, questions and conversations echoing and _echoing_ , but when he finally did, he dreamt of wolves running under the moonlight and a wispy figure standing guard over them. Protecting them.

* * *

"Scott!" Stiles waved and jogged up, forcing a smile to cover his exhaustion. "Hey, man, can we hang out later? I really need to talk to you about some stuff, remember?"

Scott's smile slipped. "I'm busy tonight. That research project for Finstock is due tomorrow, remember?"

Stiles nodded. "Yeah, he assigned it, like, two months ago."

"So yours is done?" Scott's eyes were frantic.

It was weird not feeling an answering anxiety in his chest. How was it possible that he and Scott had no pack bond to speak of?

"Yeah, I finished it a while ago." Stiles frowned. "You haven't started it."

"When have I had time?" Scott threw his hands in the air. "With practice and, uh, everything else..."

"Scott," Stiles shook his head. "We have had the same amount of time. You can just say, 'I was too busy mooning over Allison to do my homework.'"

Scott groaned.

"And look, seriously, I know things have been crazy, but we really need to talk." Stiles waited for Scott to meet his eyes. "It's important."

"I know, I know." Scott grinned. "This weekend, okay? I promise."

The bell rang. Scott ran off toward his first class with a wave. Stiles frowned after him, but turned toward his own first class.

They weren't going to manage talking this week either. He sighed. Putting off the impending argument was making him more anxious by the day.

* * *

Stiles was pretty sure he'd managed to make it to each of his morning classes. Pretty sure. Not positive. What had they even covered today? He remembered answering a question but wasn't sure whether he got it right or not, let alone what the question was.

He was so bone tired, that when Lydia gestured for him to come to her lunch table, he went on autopilot.

Lydia was alone, Stiles realized belatedly.

Lydia was alone, and people were whispering. Gesturing.

"Pay them no mind." She flipped her hair over her shoulder, haughty and dismissive. "And have a seat, Stiles."

Stiles did as he was bid, but warily.

"Where are Jackson and the rest of your entourage?"

"We're still off, for now. He and Danny are sitting with their lacrosse friends." She folded her hands on the table. The entourage was apparently no longer a factor. "I want to know what happened. Not here, obviously, but I've decided to involve myself in our current situation." Lydia turned her head toward one of the windows. Stiles followed her gaze to Allison, also sitting alone.

"She's been a bit isolated since the news about her aunt broke." Stiles considered Lydia. "I'm surprised she's not sitting with you."

"So am I." Lydia twirled a lock of hair around one finger. "I thought I made my position clear this morning, but maybe not. Well, it's convenient today." Her eyes caught his like a dagger pinning him to a wall. "You don't trust her."

"No," he agreed, "I don't."

"And not because of McCall." Lydia's expression turned puzzled. "Where is McCall?"

Stiles shrugged. "I don't know. I've spent most of today sleep walking, so I'm not sure where he wandered off to, but he's probably within sight of Allison."

Lydia hummed. "Why don't you trust her?"

"Her family is involved," Stiles said. "And I don't know her."

A bright red nail tapped the table. "You trust me, though."

Stiles shrugged. "You, I know. And you've had plenty of opportunities to betray us, and you haven't." He smiled coldly. "She has."

Lydia nodded. "That, I understand."

"Her family are _hunters_. They kill the things that go bump in the night. And, I don't know yet, but possibly..." Stiles pulled the folded paper out of his pocket and slid it across the table. Lydia raised her eyebrows, but read the paper anyway. "Possibly things like you."

She crumpled the paper in her fist, wide-eyed. "That's not possible."

Stiles raised his hands. "I'm just the messenger. I don't know how the conclusion was drawn or the signs or anything yet, but I didn't want to keep you in the dark when I knew something, even if it's only a name."

Lydia pressed her hands flat to the table, muscles in her arm taut. "Come with me, after school. You can drive me home. My mother should be home today."

Stiles felt something in his chest shift anxiously. "Sure. Why? Is everything okay?"

Lydia's smile felt wrong. She was pissed. "No. Mom has some explaining to do. I want you there to make sure I don't let her weasel out of answering me like she always does."

Stiles nodded slowly. "Okay. Whatever you need, Lydia. I'll help."

Her expression softened. The smile felt more honest. "Thank you, Stiles." She tilted her head, puzzled. "There's something different about you. Not appearance-wise, but... something has definitely changed."

Stiles shrugged. "If you figure out what it is, I'd love to hear it. I don't feel any different, really. Aside from some stuff we can talk about later."

"You can tell me after school." Her posture shifted. "Now then, I know you've already finished the reading. What did you think of _The Great Gatsby_?"

Stiles grinned. Maybe he wasn't in love with her anymore, but he had the strangest feeling that, whatever this was building between them, it was better. Much better.

* * *

"Uh, where are you going?" Scott asked, half-turned toward the locker rooms.

"I told you, I have an appointment." Stiles frowned. "Weren't you listening?"

"Yeah, of course, just didn't realize you meant, like, during practice." Scott tipped his head to the side. "Will you still be able to give me a ride home?"

"Yeah, dude. I planned on it." He grinned. "I'll see you in a couple hours." Maybe he could force the talk then.

Scott's expression cleared. "See you then."

Stiles watched him go, shook his head, and walked out the door. Lydia fell into step with him as he approached the parking lot.

They walked in complete silence until they reached the car. Unlocking the doors, Stiles sat down behind the wheel, and Lydia took shotgun.

Stiles threw his backpack into the back and started his Jeep.

Lydia buckled herself in and turned narrowed eyes on Stiles as he pulled out of the parking space. "Tell me about the Alpha, Stiles. Is he still dangerous? Can he be killed?"

"Uh, yes and no?" Stiles winced. What a place to start. "And he can be killed, but I'd rather it if we didn't. He's... He's not just _the_ Alpha, he's _my_ Alpha." Stiles pulled into the line of cars jostling to leave the lot.

Lydia's eyebrows rose. "Are you a werewolf?"

"No," Stiles said. "He asked, but no. I'm still human."

"Interesting." She pursed her lips. "Then you trust him. Why."

Stiles considered Lydia for a long moment. He turned back when the car in front of him finally pulled forward a smidge. "Because if I were in his position, I would have done the same thing." He looked down at his hands around the wheel. "And I would have wanted someone to pull me back from the ledge when my vengeance was done."

"Was it _all_ revenge?"

"Pretty much all. I haven't really had a chance to ask for details. But yeah." Stiles sighed. "I think you just got caught in the crossfire. It was about the Hale fire. Those who did it, those who covered it up, and the one who planned it."

Lydia sat up straighter. "Allison's aunt."

He nodded. "She planned everything. She may have been taking orders, too, but she was the one doing the dirty work. And... hearing them talk about it..." Stiles shook his head. He pulled another car length forward. "They don't see werewolves as people, Lydia. They see them as _things._ It's only a step shy of actively genocidal."

"And Scott is still trying to date Allison?" She shook her head. Her opinion of Scott's intelligence, though unspoken, was clear. "Is Scott part of this pack of yours, then?"

"No. He isn't." Stiles sighed. "It's complicated. Peter is the Alpha that turned him, but Scott is pissed that he was bitten against his will, even though his asthma is gone and his life turned around because of it. And because he hates Peter, he's completely refused to be a part of his pack."

"But you said yes?"

"More like I didn't help kill him when I had the opportunity."

Lydia met his eyes again, searching for something. "I'll think about it," she decided. "But first, we find out what my dear mother knows about banshees."

"Yes, ma'am." Stiles, now at the front of the lineup, pulled out of the lot (finally), and he turned toward Lydia's house.

"So Peter Hale is the Alpha, and Derek Hale is also a werewolf?" she asked idly, head turned to the window.

"Yep."

"I still haven't figured this out, but when exactly did all of this start?"

"A couple months ago. When the body was found in the woods."

"Half a body, you mean."

"We found the other half." He grimaced. "And that was the night Scott was bitten."

Lydia pressed her hand to her side. "I can sympathize, although it's not as though he's suffered for it in the long run." She shook herself slightly. "You said Peter Hale is your Alpha, but you aren't a werewolf. What does that mean?"

"Werewolves have pack bonds." Stiles touched his chest, tapping his sternum twice. "I'm connected to them, both Hales." He hesitated. "And, uh, you. Actually."

"Me?" Lydia gaped. It was almost comical, her perfect face in such a goofy expression.

Stiles felt _fond_. "Yeah. I think it predates my pack bonds by quite a bit, actually. I don't know how or why or what it is, but... In the interest of full disclosure, I have some kind of magical connection to you."

She laughed, short and sharp. "That's the most ridiculous thing I have _ever_ heard."

Stiles frowned, a little hurt, and plucked sharply at where he could feel their connection.

Lydia jolted like she'd been slapped. "What the fuck?"

"Apparently, it's not one-sided." Stiles forced a smile. "You should probably get used to the ridiculous."

"I didn't mean _you or your feelings_ are ridiculous," she muttered, rubbing at her sternum. Her gaze went distant, like she was somewhere else. "There really is something there. It's like a cloud. It's nice. Comforting. Is this what felt different about you before?"

"What did it feel like when it hurt?" Stiles asked.

"Electric. Like a static shock." Her voice was still a little dreamy.

"Like it came from a tiny storm cloud?"

"Yes," she said, eyes clearing, "yes, exactly. What is it like for you?"

"I don't know." Stiles winced. "I'm having trouble visualizing, but... Something I can pull. I yanked it, earlier."

"Interesting. I wonder when this formed... I don't remember feeling it until today, but you're right." Her eyes were closed. "It feels like it's been there for a long time."

"So, uh why will your mom know about Banshees?" Stiles asked as they pulled up at a stoplight.

"Subtle, Stiles." She rolled her eyes. "My family is Irish. And, well, let's just say a few family stories came to mind when I read your little note." Her expression turned to stone. "They've lied to me, all this time. I thought I was crazy."

Stiles thought of his mother, thought about the way she screamed at him. Stiles thought about the way she smiled and played the good mom and good wife for his dad, thought about being called a liar until no one could deny the truth any longer.

"I know the feeling," he murmured.

Lydia touched his hand, her skin soft and warm against his, the connection between them banked low in his chest. Comfort. Companionship.

The rest of the drive was quiet.

* * *

"I'm home," Lydia called, closing the door behind them.

"In the kitchen," a woman who must be her mother called in answer. Stiles followed Lydia's lead, leaving his shoes on as he crossed the entryway toward what must be the kitchen.

Stiles allowed himself a moment to appreciate how huge Lydia's house was, admiring the chandelier over the entryway, the large living room they passed, and the grandeur of the kitchen.

Stiles thought of his own kitchen with a twinge like embarrassment. Nothing in this house would dare to be dated or unfashionable. Nothing brass or that weird orange-ish wood. No appliances that had seen better days. No hard-to-keep-looking-clean white counters.

Every room Stiles saw could have been in some catalogue or lifestyle magazine.

Mrs. Martin was much the same. She looked like she'd stepped out of a fashion magazine, not a hair out of place, and clothes Stiles knew cost more than every piece of clothing in his closet combined.

"How was school, Lydia?" Mrs. Martin asked without turning around.

"Same as usual," Lydia hedged. "Except, my friend Stiles told me something interesting."

"Stiles?" she asked, turning her head. The rest of her followed suit, and her eyes widened. Stiles was surprised to see recognition there. "You're Claudia's son!"

Stiles almost flinched. "Uh, what?" Not 'the Sheriff's boy?' No one knew his mother better than his father. "I mean, yeah, but no one ever...?"

"No, they wouldn't." Mrs. Martin gave him a sad smile. "Your mother was a dear friend of mine, and you are her spitting image. Especially the eyes. Whiskey gold."

Mrs. Martin turned to face her daughter in the same moment that Stiles did flinch. _Whiskey._

"Lydia, you never told me you knew her son!"

Lydia frowned. "I didn't exactly know. He's been in my class every year since we were eight. You didn't notice?"

Stiles' focus shifted. _Lydia_ knew that? He thought she hadn't noticed. Maybe they had a stronger connection than he first thought.

Mrs. Martin winced, but smiled anyway. "I wasn't looking. That's on me." She tilted her head. "But you said Stiles told you something interesting. What was it?"

Lydia crossed her arms. "I was bitten by an alpha werewolf at prom. We were trying to figure out why I didn't fit the pattern, turn or die, when Stiles raised a possibility I'd never considered."

Stiles watched with interest as Lydia's mother shifted. Her stance closed off. Her eyes shuttered. She looked _scared._

"Mrs. Martin," Stiles said slowly, "what do you know about banshees?"

"Get out of my house."

"He's _my_ guest, Mother." Lydia snapped. "And I have a right to know. You cannot keep lying to me! I'm not a child!"

Mrs. Martin shook her head, backing away. Her hand fumbled for the counter behind her. Her other hand was shaking as she raised it to her face. "No, no, no, I was keeping you safe. I was going to end the cycle with me." She gripped the granite counters until her knuckles turned stark white against the flawless tan of her skin.

"It's too late for that now," Lydia said. It was almost gentle. "Knowledge is power, so _let me arm myself._ "

Mrs. Martin closed her eyes. And then, she laughed. Defeated and resigned. Sad. "You are so much like your grandmother. I forget that sometimes." She sighed, pressing a hand across her forehead. "You should both sit."

She gestured them all to the kitchen table. Stiles sat in the seat Lydia indicated, the one to her left. Her mother took the other end.

"I will not share family secrets with an outsider," Mrs. Martin said. Whatever she may have felt before, her eyes were firm now. Determined. "I may not want to be a part of this, but I will follow the rules that were passed to me."

Stiles nodded before Lydia could protest. "I understand." More than that, he respected her more, suddenly. The exchange felt _correct_ now, where it hadn't before. _But why?_

Mrs. Martin's eyes were the same as Lydia's, but they were _sorrowful_. "Sweetheart," she said, "more important than anything else... None of the deaths will be your fault. Unless you personally kill someone, you are never to blame."

Lydia's hands gripped the table.

"Deaths?" Stiles asked for her.

"Lydia is a banshee. As am I, and my mother before me, and her mother before her." Mrs. Martin closed her eyes again. Her shoulders slumped. "Until we're awoken, we only occasionally dream of death. We're normal, _human_ , until that moment of awakening."

"Are we not human?" Lydia asked. Her voice trembled.

Mrs. Martin hesitated. "That depends on who you ask. Most people would consider you human."

"But not all." Stiles frowned. "There are Argents in town."

Mrs. Martin scoffed. "The Argents are short-sighted fools, the lot of them. So focused on wolves, they can't see there are worse dangers lurking in the shadows." She shook her head. "No, we have no threat from the Argents. Not naturally. Running with wolves would be more a crime to them than being a banshee. But that doesn't mean there aren't others."

"You said I won't cause the deaths." Lydia watched, eyes tight.

"Uh, I'm a little more worried about those 'others,' and the 'worse dangers,'" Stiles muttered.

"They are a family secret, and the dangers are a question for someone who knows more than I, but Lydia's question is not."

Stiles raised his hands. "Fair enough."

"A banshee," she continued, "is drawn to death. She can sense it, predict it, understand it." Mrs. Martin looked them both in the eye. "Banshees are privy to the secrets of the veil. At a price."

"Those nightmares I had," Lydia said softly. "The dreams I had about fires. About people being shot. About drowning. Those people really died."

Her mother nodded, but it was pained. "Yes."

"Could they have been saved?"

"No." She took Lydia's hand, firm. "You were too young. What you dreamt of were echoes. Those things had already happened. Your grandmother and I dreamt of them first."

"That's why she knew." Lydia pulled her hand away. "You always stopped her from comforting me. You knew, and you let me think I was insane!"

"I was trying to protect you."

Stiles could feel the truth of it. It almost resonated in the air around them. "You resent it," he said gently. "The gift you have."

"Being death touched," she snapped, "is _not_ a gift."

"An unwanted gift is still a gift," Stiles said. "My best friend is a werewolf now. He resents it like you do." He looked down at his hands and pictured claws. "I don't think I'd feel the same."

"No," she agreed. "You wouldn't." He lifted his head. "I cannot tell you more about banshees, Stiles, but I can tell you about your mother."

His blood ran cold. "What about her?"

Mrs. Martin stood. "I'll be right back. I have something that belongs to you."

Stiles watched her go, trepidation freezing him from the inside out.

Lydia took his hand and squeezed. "Whatever it is, you don't have to face it alone."

Stiles nodded, but he knew his face was grim. His mother had left him something with Lydia's mother. Not his father. Not anyone he knew. Mrs. Martin. A friend he didn't know she had.

Mrs. Martin returned with a large leatherbound book. She placed it on the table and set an envelope on top of it.

"I was told to wait until you were 18, but considering the circumstances, I don't think Claudia would mind me doing this a little earlier than she instructed."

Stiles didn't reach for the book. He couldn't.

"Why did my mother leave this with you?"

"She and I were dear friends." Mrs. Martin seemed sincere. "I was always something of an outcast growing up. I was morbid and weird, and people thought my mother was a witch."

Lydia seemed surprised to hear it.

"Claudia met me probably a year after I awoke as a banshee. They'd just moved to town, and she didn't know anyone yet." Her eyes turned wistful. "When she walked into class that first day, she immediately claimed the seat by me and told me that I was going to be her best friend. That she could feel it in the air."

Mrs. Martin laughed. "She was even weirder than me. She said she could talk to plants, and that her mother actually _was_ a witch, only I wasn't allowed to tell anyone else."

"My grandmother died when I was four." Stiles squeezed Lydia's hand. "My mom was never the same after that. Even in pictures, you can see where she's different."

Mrs. Martin winced. "I'm sorry, Stiles." She pressed her hand down over the envelope. "She never told me what was going on. Family secret, she said. But she loved you. More than anything. She was terrified, at the end. Afraid she would hurt _you_."

Stiles laughed, sharp and bitter, pain slicing through his ribs. "She _did_ hurt me. She tried to kill me!"

Mrs. Martin reeled back like Stiles had slapped her. It wasn't as satisfying as he wanted it to be. Lydia gripped his hand like a lifeline, and Stiles wasn't sure whose lifeline it was meant to be.

"So it was as bad as she feared," she breathed, tears gathering in her eyes. "I'm so sorry, Stiles. I never knew. All I knew was that she loved you, and she gave this to me for safekeeping. She knew she was dying, and she wanted to be able to pass on her knowledge. Your father never knew about it, but... Your mother and your grandmother really were witches. They really were magic."

Stiles shook his head, but he could feel the truth of it in the air again, like it was seeping into his lungs, his veins, his bones.

"You are, too, or you wouldn't be sitting here."

Stiles stood, the chair clattering behind him with enough noise to startle both Lydia and her mother.

"I need to go pick up Scott from practice." His skin felt too tight. He tried to focus on breathing, but it was all too much. He could handle Lydia being a banshee, but he couldn't handle this. Not now. Possibly not ever.

"Take this with you." Mrs. Martin stood and held the book and envelope out to him. "I won't ask that you read it, but it is yours. An unwanted gift is still a gift, right?" Her eyes flashed.

Stiles thought about refusing. He could still walk away and ignore this. Lydia wouldn't press him for a while. She'd let him process as long as he needed.

But the curiosity would get to him eventually. It always did. Hand him a box that said "do not open," and it would be opened within the hour.

He took the book.

He strode away too quickly for Mrs. Martin to say anything else, but Lydia stopped him at the door, one hand closed gently around his upper arm. Stiles held himself perfectly still.

"I've never seen you like this before," she said softly. "I'm used to you deflecting everything, laughing it all off."

"Not everything." Stiles couldn't face her. "My mother is... She was... Dad didn't believe me about what she was doing until she almost succeeded. And he only believed me then because there was a witness."

"Stiles..." For the first time since he'd met her, Lydia looked like she felt for him, like she cared. And he could feel the answering warmth in his chest, a constant now.

He shook his head. "No one really knows about this, so I'd really appreciate it if you could keep it to yourself." He shot her a smile, but he knew it was only a shadow of what he could normally manage.

"Our secret." She stepped closer. "Stiles, if you want to talk about it, I'll listen." Her eyes dropped to her hand on his arm. "And when my mom gets done with the family secrets, I'll figure out what I can tell you. We can exchange notes."

"I'd like that." Stiles took a deep breath, shoving everything back and back and _back_. He tried smiling again, and it didn't feel as false. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow." Lydia squeezed his arm once, decisive. "If you ditch, I know where you live."

Stiles laughed. "I get it; I won't." He touched her hand. "Thanks, Lydia."

"We're friends now, so you don't need to thank me." She gave him a light shove. "Now get out of here. I have research to do."

"Yes, ma'am." He saluted.

Laughing, she waved him off, watching until he was in his car.

Stiles put the book on the passenger seat and tucked the envelope inside the front cover. First, before any mysterious books, he'd have to talk to Scott.

* * *

Stiles checked his phone, frowning. Practice was clearly over, but Scott was nowhere to be seen. He was early. Practice was normally still going around now.

No text from Scott. No missed calls.

Stiles called him.

The phone rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Voicemail.

Stiles hung up and redialed.

The phone rang.

And rang.

Andー

"Yeah?" Scott answered.

"Where are you?"

"Oh, I got a ride with Greenberg. Cool dude, actually. Bit weird." Scott did not seem to understand why Stiles was calling.

"You couldn't have texted me?"

"What?"

Stiles dug his knuckle into his forehead. "I drove to the school to pick you up. Did you just forget?"

"Oh, right. Yeah, he offered and I just went with it." Scott laughed. "Sorry, man."

Stiles was going to scream. Did Scott ever think about him when they weren't together? "Fine. I had some stuff I wanted to talk to you about, and some news to share with you, but it can wait, I guess."

"Look, I'm sorry. We got out early, and Greenberg lives in the neighborhood."

"I get it. Don't worry about it." Stiles wanted to curl up in his bed and hide from everything. He felt cold down to his bones. "I gotta go get started on dinner. Don't forget your project or whatever."

"Oh, shit," Scott exclaimed, but Stiles hung up and dropped his phone into his cup holder.

He could still feel Lydia's presence, warm and more solid than before. He could still feel the tangled mass of his connections to Derek and Peter. But he couldn't feel anything from Scott. Not an inkling. Not a wisp.

Stiles put the car in drive and went home. Maybe he'd take his dad dinner tonight. He didn't want to be alone.


	3. Family Matters

Stiles slipped through the door to the station and sidled up to the front desk. "Patricia," he greeted the receptionist warmly.

The woman raised her perfectly drawn eyebrows, caught somewhere between amused and unimpressed. Her usual when Stiles was involved.

"Stiles," she said, voice slow as molasses without any of the sweetness. "Are we in trouble today, young man?"

He grinned. "When have I _ever_ been in trouble?" Her silence spoke volumes, and he laughed. "Okay, okay, but no, not this time. Just came to feed the father unit. Is he in?"

Patricia's expression warmed. "He is. And he was just about to call for delivery."

"Then it seems I'm just in time." He winked. "And I may or may not have been baking earlier." He slid his largest tupperware across the counter. He just learned how to make snickerdoodles. "I trust you know what to do?"

Patricia rolled her eyes. "Always so dramatic. Go on, then. I'll distribute your bribes, you little mobster." She shooed him away, but Stiles knew she'd pass them to the people who'd earned them.

Stiles wasn't sure how his father hadn't figured it out, but most of his deputies were in Stiles' pocket. The ones who kept him from ordering takeout got extras. The ones who took him to bars or brought him junk food got nothing.

Patricia and the other receptionists kept track for Stiles, and he was always grateful. Patricia was probably his favorite of the bunch, though. She never let him get away with anything, but when Stiles got caught ditching one too many times, she asked him about it instead of going straight to his father with the call.

He'd cried on her shoulder more than once.

"Always a pleasure doing business with you," Stiles said with a bow. "Let me know if they need any tweaking!" He hurried past the counter and made a beeline for his dad's office.

A few deputies gave him a wave, which he happily returned, especially the ones who had the best track record for helping him keep his father healthy.

Stiles gave a quick knock in rhythm, waiting for the go ahead before he let himself in.

"Heyo, Daddio," he announced, pulling their dinner out of his backpack.

The Sheriff looked up from his paperwork and heaved a beleagured sigh. "Did someone snitch on me again?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Stiles lied as he set out the tupperware and utensils. "I just wanted to bring my dad dinner at the office. Especially when it means he won't turn around and eat high-cholesterol garbage."

The Sheriff shuffled his papers and slid them to the side and away from Stiles' frequently prying eyes. "Uh-huh." 

With his mind on the recent revelations about his mother, Stiles didn't have much of an appetite for snooping, despite his efforts to stay positive for his dad.

Stiles pushed his food around, barely acknowledging his dad's appreciative noises and compliments. He sighed. He couldn't get it off his mind after all.

"Okay, kid, what's wrong?" his dad asked, looking up from his paperwork, expression flat.

Stiles winced. He hated to be so obvious, but too many things were wearing him down. "I..."

What was he supposed to _say_? I joined a werewolf pack? I think Mom might have actually been a witch? I might be a witch too? Lydia's a banshee whose mom was besties with Mom?

"I think Scott and I are fighting?" he said instead, but it came out as a question. It still seemed wrong somehow. It had been hours already, but he couldn't quite wrap his head around it. "He's been kind of a dick recently, actually."

The Sheriff turned one of the pages of what looked like a report. "Really? Aw, kid, I'm sorry. Brothers fight, sometimes." He chuckled. "And you two are certainly close enough that I'm not always sure I _don't_ have two sons." 

"If this is what brothers do, I'm glad I'm an only child," Stiles muttered, pushing his food around.

"No one gets along all the time," the Sheriff said, waving a hand. His eyes dropped back to the report. "I'm shocked it took this long, really. What finally did it?"

"I don't know what you mean." Why 'finally' when Stiles felt like it had come out of left field? Finally? When his only friend was all but ignoring him? 

The Sheriff leveled him with a flinty look. "What did he do that finally crossed a line?"

Stiles looked down. "He... He'd rather spend time with the popular kids and his girlfriend than with me. I haven't seen him in... in weeks, it seems like, outside of school and lacrosse." And werewolf nonsense. He looked up. "Am I cursed?"

"Cursed?" His dad's brow furrowed.

Stiles couldn't stop, his mouth saying the words as he thought them. "I'm always getting left behind or forgotten or ignored. I only have the one friend, and even he's leaving me behind now." Never mind his new friendship with Lydia. She'd probably leave him behind too, as soon as someone better came along. How many witches were there in the world?

"Stiles," his dad tried, but he trailed off. His face twisted with what Stiles hoped was guilt. What Stiles hoped _wasn't_ guilt.

Maybe the lack of anyone at home was finally ocurring to him. They rarely saw each other unless Stiles came to the station to feed him. When was the last time they'd spent any time together? Even now, Stiles was a burden, a distraction. In the way. Unwanted.

"I'm sure Scott'll come around. It's probably just novelty. You'll see." His dad smiled, gentle and tired. "He loves you, kiddo. And hey, how about this," he said, "I'll head home early tonight, and we can do something fun. Just the two of us. And you can complain about Scott until you feel better." His dad's smile was fragile. "Sound good?"

Stiles let himself return it. Just a little. "Yeah," he decided. "Yeah, I'd like that. We can watch Star Wars or something."

"Which one?" his dad asked, eyebrows raised in challenge.

"Well... If we're only watching one, we have to make it count." Stiles tapped his fork against the tupperware. "But if we keep going... We could always start at the beginning?"

The Sheriff laughed. "You drive a hard bargain, but you got yourself a deal. I have to finish reviewing this report, and a bit of other paperwork, but it should only take me about a half hour."

They finished dinner, in a companionable silence, his dad reading the report as he ate. Stiles tried to start another conversation, but it fizzled out. But his dad was going to come home tonight. Maybe they could talk properly then.

And Stiles let himself hope. Just a little.

* * *

Stiles was pulling up to the house when his phone rang.

"Sup?"

"Stiles, I'm sorry," his dad said. Stiles' stomach dropped. "Something just came up, a big something. I'm going to be home late tonight."

Stiles closed his eyes. "Okay, Dad," he heard himself say. "I understand. Be safe. I love you."

"I love you, too, Stiles. This weekend. Friday. We can start with Episode IV. Okay?" His dad sounded desperate, rushed.

"Yeah, sounds good. Seriously, stay safe, okay?" Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose.

"I will. Don't forget. Friday." His dad insisted. "I'll pick up some of that healthy popcorn and everything."

Stiles laughed. "I'll believe _that_ when I see it."

"Be good tonight, Stiles. Don't go anywhere; don't stay up too late; and don't forget to do your homework."

"Roger that, Pops. Love you."

"Love you, too. So much. Good night."

Stiles dropped his phone to his lap and hunched forward over his steering wheel, eyes stinging. He just had to go and get his hopes up. He couldn't just ignore his dad's offer.

Stiles shouldn't be upset. The job was important. Stiles knew that. When a big call came in, his dad needed to respond. He was keeping the county safe. It mattered.

Why couldn't he matter sometimes? When did he get to come first?

Stiles forced down the feelings, locking them back up, before grabbing his stuff and heading inside. He set the book on the kitchen table to be dealt with later.

Stiles washed the dishes with disappointment heavy in his gut. Another late night, and probably a busy next several days. He'd check his police scanner later. After he finally took a proper look at the book Mrs. Martin gave him.

* * *

Stiles sat down on his back porch, feet resting on the step. The backyard was a bit overgrown. He and his dad had gotten a bit behind on yardwork, but the result was mostly cool. The Preserve seemed to be spilling out into his backyard, like the forest was reclaiming the space.

He glanced at the book beside him.

Stiles shook his head. He was being ridiculous. It was just a book. And it might even have something useful to tell him.

The letter, though. That wasn't so ridiculous to be wary of.

His mother was probably sane when she wrote it, but that didn't mean she couldn't still be cruel. His dad always insisted his mother loved him, but Stiles still couldn't bring himself to believe it.

Which was worse? Knowing your mother loved you and wanted you dead, or knowing she hated you and wanted you dead? There weren't really other options that he could see.

Stiles thought about ignoring the letter altogether, but something in him flinched away from the thought.

He never could ignore something like that.

Without looking, he slid his hand under the front cover and pulled out the envelope.

Stiles traced a finger over a name he hadn't answered to since she died. _Mischief._ Stiles recognized the handwriting from notes hidden in his school things every day until she got sick. Sometimes, he forgot what she looked like, but her handwriting, it seemed, he'd never forget.

He flipped the envelope over. It was sealed with wax, like he was in some gothic novel. The symbol pressed into the wax matched the symbol on the book. He wasn't sure what it was yet. Runes maybe. Or maybe something else.

Stiles worried his lip between his teeth. He felt weird about breaking it.

There was a trick to it, to opening a wax seal without it breaking, he remembered reading about one, but he was fairly sure it involved fire, and he didn't want to burn the letter by accident.

Stiles took a deep breath and held it; he edged one nail underneath the wax and pressed up. It wasn't clean, but most of it came free, and the image was intact.

He pulled out the letter before he could give it any more thought. It was a few sheets of his mother's stationery, filled with her handwriting.

Stiles took a fortifying breath.

_Dearest Mischief,_

_I want to apologize. I know it will never be enough, and I can never know how much you hate me, but I know it's deserved. And I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not telling you and your father the truth before it was too late. I'm sorry for thinking I was stronger than I am. And more than anything, I'm sorry I couldn't protect you in the ways that matter._

_But you're alive. Mischief, my son, you survived._

_I won't bore you with the details. The man who killed your grandmother got ahold of me. He was using me to try to kill you, but he failed. Thank the gods, he failed. And if I'm dead, then so is he. You'll never need to fear him or me again._

Stiles looked out into the yard, eyes unseeing.

No, he decided. No, not today. He wasn't even remotely prepared to unpack that. Not now. Maybe not ever.

His hands shook. Stiles took as deep a breath as he could manage, forcing air into stubborn lungs.

In (through the nose) for eight, hold for eight, out (through the mouth) for eight. In for eight, hold for eight, out for eight.

He closed his eyes. He could do this. He could keep reading. He _would_ keep reading.

_You are a witch, Mischief. And by now, possibly even a powerful one. It's unlikely to manifest immediately, and you won't have noticed any accidental magic like sometimes happens in your books, but as you start to practice, I think you'll find certain things shifting naturally into place._

_Now, our family, we are specifically hedge witches. This mostly means that we're home bodies by nature, and we tend to find a territory we like and settle down. You'll probably begin to feel possessive and territorial as well. Hedge witches are known to protect their home and their people with everything they have. So you'll have that in spades from both your father and me._

Stiles took a moment to laugh. Of course he'd wind up running with wolves. If all this was true, an alpha would love to have a hedge witch in their territory. Perfect to protect the pack.

He squeezed the bridge of his nose. At least it was a mutual protection. He wondered if Peter knew, or even just suspected. How did he know about Lydia? Could he have known about Stiles, too? Did he know?

He shook his head. The letter first, and then he could worry about enigmatic werewolves.

_You should try your hand at gardening again. You'll likely find you have an aptitude for it. A lot of the herbs we usーyou'll find them in the book Natalie should have given youーare very common ingredients. You'll be able to buy them in stores for the most part, but growing them yourself will make them more magically potent. (Plus, growing them is cheaper if you're actively practicing.)_

Stiles looked at the ground where their garden had once been planted. Stiles could feel, somehow, that the soil was good, that it would serve any plants he chose well. He could feel it like a ringing in his ears.

_And Mischief, you'll need to brush up on your Polish. Some of the oldest entries in our family grimoire were written before the family moved to the New World. And even then, a few generations after chose to write in Polish to protect our knowledge from outsiders._

_I'm running out of daylight, so I'll need to wrap this up. I wish we had all the time in the world, that I could tell you everything you need to know as it comes up. If wishes were horses._

_Don't be afraid of the dark, Mischief. You are light, and the dark will sing to you so sweetly. Keep yourself safe, but don't fear the way you'll be drawn into it. You have a fire burning within you, and it will keep you safe and light your way home._

_Everything you need to know is within the grimoire. It will teach you everything that I would have, given the chance._

_And there's one more thing you need to know. Now that you're going to be practicing, you will find yourself Called. I don't know when, but it will be soon. When you are Called, answer it. Follow the call. You'll be safe. The forest will always protect you, Mischief, so be sure to return the favor._

Stiles looked out into the Preserve, and for a delirious moment, he almost felt like it was looking back at him.

_I'm sure this will be hard to believe, but I love you, Mischief. I love you and your father more than anything else in this world. I wish we could have had more time. I wish that man had never sunk his hooks into me._

_Take care of your father, but don't forget to take care of yourself. And remember: You are loved._

_I love you, and I am so proud of you,_

_Mom_

Stiles refolded the letter and carefully returned it to the envelope. He slid the envelope into the grimoire, stood, and let himself back into the house.

He needed to work on his homework. He'd read the grimoire afterward.

* * *

Stiles stared down at the grimoire on his desk. The facts were these:

  1. A family grimoire was likely to have basics at the front, followed by additions and clarifications from each successive generation.
  2. The earliest entries were very old.
  3. The family had not yet emigrated.
  4. The oldest (the most useful to a beginner) entries were likely to all be in Polish.
  5. Stiles spoke Polish when he was small, with his grandmother and his mom.
  6. The last time Stiles spoke Polish was when he was about seven.
  7. Stiles no longer remembered any Polish.
  8. Stiles could not learn magic (magick?) until he learned Polish.
  9. Stiles was screwed.



Stiles leaned his chin on his hand and sighed. He traced the symbol on the front. He couldn't find the words to describe it. Simple, but intricate. Delicate, but with strong lines.

Even if he couldn't read the beginner stuff, there was no reason he couldn't flip through the book anyway.

He opened the front cover, admiring the calligraphy used for the front matter.

His ancestors painstakingly compiled their knowledge for future generations. For him. And he was holding the result in his hands.

Stiles grinned, flipping the book open properly, choosing a random page.

The page was in English.

_For beginners who haven't yet learned Polish._

Stiles laughed. "What? No. Come on." What were the odds?

Magic, Stiles realized. He was holding a magic book.

Stiles closed the book and reopened it, letting it fall open again, aiming for a different page, closer to the beginning.

_For beginners who haven't yet learned Polish._

Stiles laughed again and reached for his phone. "Scott, can youー" he stopped typing. His heart clenched. Right. Scott was probably busy. They might be fighting. And he didn't even know Stiles was a witch.

Stiles dialed a different number instead.

"Hello?"

"Lydia, the book is magic."

Lydia said nothing. Then, "Are you seriously calling me this late to state the obvious, Stiles?"

"No," Stiles said, "I mean, yes, but no."

"Eloquent."

"Shut up, so the front half of the book is in Polish which I don't remember how to speak, so I flipped to a random page, right?"

"Right."

"I randomly flipped to the 'newbie American-born' page. And then, aiming for a different page, I did it again." Stiles was still grinning at the grimoire. So freaking cool.

"Holy shit, your book is magic." Lydia laughed. "Oh, the possibilities are endless. Stiles, what are you doing this weekend?"

"Uh, nothing so far?"

"Wrong. I'm coming over. We should exchange notes. I'm the head of my clan now. I can choose what to tell and to whom." He could hear the grin in her voice. "Some things are certainly meant to be family secrets, but not all. And I'd be very interested to see the book in action."

Stiles considered the grimoire. He ran a hand over the page, thinking. But the grimoire felt... warm. Pleased. "Yeah, okay. I'd like that."

"Perfect. I'll be there at noon. I'll bring lunch."

"See you Saturday."

He set his phone back down. When was the last time he had anyone but Scott come over? And he'd _never_ had a girl over. It seemed almost mundane if they weren't also going to be discussing the supernatural.

Was the house clean enough? He sat up. The house was definitely not clean enough. But the grimoire seemed to call his attention back, the page fluttering gently.

_Lesson one: Find your center. Relax. Magick is a natural extension of you, and your energy will affect it. The more relaxed you are, the more stable the spell you cast will be._

_As you learn, certain emotional states will enhance certain kinds of spells, but to begin with, it's best to remain calm and steady._

_The easiest spell to begin with in our family seems to be light. This can take many forms. Seat yourself somewhere dark, and bring your light into existence. This will allow you to find your spark. Everyone's is different, but it is always found deep within._

_So sit down, turn the lights out, and find your spark._

_Once you've done that, our grimoire will guide your progress. But only once you have found your spark._

Stiles turned the page, but the top of the next page still said "Lesson one."

"Level locked," he mumbled. "So until I complete the first quest, I can't progress." He shook his head with a slight laugh. "A proper tutorial. Fair enough."

He closed the book and got up. He stretched, considering his next steps. Was there a particularly good dark place for practicing? His bedroom got pretty dark. Although... It was a new moon.

Stiles bit his lip. The woods seemed more appropriate, really. He was a hedge witch. Nature was kind of their thing, right?

Decision made, Stiles walked downstairs, turning lights off as he went. He slipped out the backdoor and stepped off the patio onto the lawn. He was barefoot, and the grass was cool and a little damp between his toes.

The backyard was dark, and the Preserve was darker.

He took a few more steps away from the house before sitting down and getting comfortable. Going into the woods this late at night was just asking for trouble, but the backyard should be safe.

It was dark enough that he could barely see. Now he just had to find his spark. The light to guide him home, Stiles guessed.

He closed his eyes. Stiles hated meditating. It had never come naturally to him, or at all really, so he didn't try. He let his thoughts wander, and enjoyed the cool breeze on his skin. His pants soaked through from the damp grass. He shivered.

He heard rustling in the trees.

Stiles thought about light. He thought about candles and flourescent bulbs. He thought about the sun, the moon, and the stars.

There wasn't a moon tonight. In two weeks, the moon would be full again, and he could almost certainly expect some kind of shenanigans. Maybe Peter would be back by then.

His pack bonds were solid and tangled in his chest. He could feel Lydia's, much firmer than it was before. It felt solid now.

He couldn't quite distinguish between Peter and Derek. Neither bond was stronger than the other, really, and they both felt... Heavy. Much heavier than they had any right to feel.

They had both suffered so much. Stiles dropped his head forward. He wanted to be helpful. He wanted to make his place in their pack, to show them that he could contribute, that he wasn't only the token human.

That determination filled him up, his chest warm around the pack bonds.

The trees rustled. A branch snapped.

Stiles' head snapped up. "Who's there?"

He eyed the treeline until a dark figure stepped out into the moonlight.

"Stiles, what the hell is that?" Derek asked.

Stiles followed his finger up, and he shot to his feet. "That's no moon," he whispered. He could feel it still, the glow in his chest now hovering above their heads in large orb form. "Oh, that's awesome."

"Stiles, seriously." Derek looked concerned.

"What's wrong, Der-bear? Never seen a witch cast mage light before?" Stiles grinned.

"Don't call me that." Derek was still staring. "Wait, a what?"

"Surprise," Stiles said, wiggling his fingers. "Turns out your new packmate is also a witch." He tipped his head back and forth, waffling. "Well, a hedge witch specifically. I don't really know what the distinction entails yet. I only started reading, like... uh, what time is it?"

"I don't know, 2 a.m.?"

"Shit, really?" Stiles crossed his arms. "It's been, like, three hours I guess since I started reading. Wow. Been a while since I lost that much time just thinking."

"You _lost time?_ " Derek's eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah?" Stiles shrugged. "Dude, I have ADHD. Time is, like, my mortal enemy. I rarely have any idea how long I've been doing something for." He frowned. "Wait, it's 2? Dude, what are you doing in my backyard?"

"I'm... Working on something for Peter." Derek's eyes darted away, unable to meet his.

"Uh-huh. Which led you here, why?"

A howl broke across the Preserve and sent a chill through Stiles' veins. His light glowed a little brighter in answer. Derek stepped closer, placing himself between Stiles and the Preserve.

"That wasn't Peter." Stiles stared at Derek. "And it wasn't you or Scott, either."

"I have to go." Derek looked over his shoulder, back into the Preserve. "Lock your doors, and stay inside, Stiles."

"And if I say no?"

"You wanna get attacked tonight?" Derek snapped.

Stiles swallowed. "What is it?"

"An omega," Derek said. He winced. "We think."

"Omega?"

"Packless," Derek clarified. "Missing pack bonds, or worse, having them taken from you? There's no worse fate for a werewolf."

The bond in his chest cried out twice over. He could feel what it would be like, losing them. He could feel the pain of it in his chest, pulsing in time with his heartbeat.

Stiles' eyes felt hot, he realized, tears threatening. It hadn't been long, but already the thought of losing his connections to his pack... His gut clenched.

Losing them would probably make him dangerous, too.

Derek stepped in close and ran a hand over Stiles' head. Stiles wrapped his arms around his chest, hugging him close. He took a deep breath; Derek smelled like the woods and coffee.

More settled, Stiles stepped back. "Okay," he said softly. "My dad is out there, too. If... If you come across him... Keep him safe? And you stay safe, too, or I will come in after you. Both of you." Stiles took another step back. "Once I have a handle on the magick, though, you're not keeping me home this easy."

Derek sighed, but he was smiling. "If I come across him, I'll make sure he's safe. And I won't take any unnecessary risks. Now go to bed. You have school."

Stiles nodded once, swallowing thickly, and jogged into the house, locking the door behind him. Once he was inside, Derek vanished into the Preserve.

Stiles thought about the light above his backyard, and he pulled it back in, wrapping it back around his pack bonds.

The light outside dimmed in answer until it was no more.

Stiles pulled again at the light within him, focusing on an image this time. Something small, like a lantern or a will'o'wisp.

A small orb formed above his open palm, just bright enough to light his way. He double checked all the locks downstairs before returning to his room.

He turned on the light, withdrew the mage light, and sat back down at his desk.

"Now, what do _you_ know about werewolves?"


	4. Negotiations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was longer, but I decided to split it into two. The next chapter is probably about half done already. 8) I hope you guys enjoy it.
> 
> (Why do teenagers have to spend so much time at school UGH)

Stiles frowned down the hallway, one hand on his open locker door. He'd half expected Scott to come bounding up to him like he normally did, but Scott was next to Allison, their heads bent close to each other. Whispering. Now Allison was looking away, tucking her hair behind her ear. Blushing.

Something bitter churned in Stiles' gut.

Kate Argent's funeral had only been last week, and her grandfather wanted Scott and people like him dead, but that didn't seem to matter.

He shook his head, grabbing his textbooks and shutting his locker.

Jackson was standing right beside him. He jumped, hands letting go of his books. Jackson caught them.

"Jesus, dude, what the hell?" Stiles snatched his books back and leaned away from him. "Can I help you?"

"Meet me during lunch. By the bleachers. Don't be late."

Stiles scowled. "Why the hell should I? We aren't exactly _friends_."

Jackson's hand shot out, hitting the locker beside his head. Stiles flinched, but didn't back down.

"Just. Be there, okay." Jackson looked a step away from snarling, and then his eyes flashed yellow.

Like Scott's.

Fuck.

"I'll think about it," Stiles said, heart stumbling in his chest.

Fuck fuck fuck.

"Fine." Jackson turned and stalked away.

Stiles watched him go, alarm building. Peter couldn't have bitten him, which meant...

_Stiles: You're tracking a packless ALPHA??? AND YOU DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING?_

Derek replied immediately.

_Sourwolf: I'm WHAT?_

_Stiles: JACKSON IS A WEREWOLF, AND HE ISN'T PACK. WHAT THE FUCK DEREK_

_Sourwolf: [Read: 7:25 a.m.]_

"Dude, I think Allison and I are gonna try dating again!" Scott said, coming up behind Stiles.

Stiles schooled his expression, shoving his phone in his pocket. "That's great," he said without his requisite enthusiasm. "Isn't she grounded?"

"Well," Scott hedged, "Yeah, but we'll make it work."

"Uh-huh." Stiles' thoughts raced.

They were in such deep shit. Wasn't one rogue alpha in the territory enough for the year? Where'd this second one come from?

Scott rambled away beside him, but Stiles didn't hear a word of it.

* * *

Stiles read his last text from Derek again, pausing just outside the school. "Use your best judgement with Jackson." What did that even mean?

Was he really allowed to invite him into the Pack? Did he _want_ Jackson in the Pack? Peter had mentioned his name, so he clearly considered Jackson as a possible contender, but...

Still weighing the cons, he wandered out to the bleachers alone.

Jackson was pacing like a caged thing, and his head whipped around as Stiles approached. Jackson jogged over, closing the distance.

Stiles really was too curious for his own good.

"I'm a little confused," Stiles drawled, hands clenched tightly in his pockets. "I thought this," he nodded at Jackson, "was what you wanted?"

Jackson scowled. "Don't be a smart ass, Stilinski."

"Can't help it." Stiles tilted his head to the side. "Seriously, you seem..." Scared. Anxious. Overwhelmed. "Weird. Even for you."

"You try spending a school day hearing and smelling _everything._ " Jackson's lip lifted in a snarl, fangs showing, eyes flashing.

"Easy, there, Fido," Stiles raised his hands in surrender. This, at least, he knew how to deal with. Somehow it was easier to bear, coming from Jackson. "Breathe for me. You're outside. On the grass. Fresh air. Just the two of us."

Jackson actually listened, eyes closing and taking a deep breath in through his nose. He let it out slowly through his mouth. "Did you know," Jackson's voice was uncharacteristically soft, "that you have a very distinctive heartbeat?"

"Um, thanks?"

Jackson's shoulders settled back down, away from his ears. When he opened his eyes, they were normal again. Stiles relaxed.

"That's why I wanted to talk to you." Jackson looked away. "Control is... a lot harder than I thought it would be. How did you know that would work?"

Stiles shrugged. "Werewolves don't have a monopoly on panic attacks. And Scott didn't exactly figure it out on his own."

"Figures." Jackson rolled his shoulders. "So, I just need to go outside and breathe?"

"I mean, that apparently works, but you can't just leave in the middle of class. And what about being overwhelmed during lacrosse? You'll already be outside." Stiles tapped his heel against the grass, nervous. "You need an anchor, something that makes you feel human. Something that you can reach for and pull yourself back."

"An anchor..." Jackson's brow furrowed. "What did Scott end up using?"

"Uh, Allison's heartbeat, I think," Stiles said, "but one person is a bit... dicey. Like, what about when they aren't around?" What about when your human best friend is all alone and unprotected against your claws and rage? What if you and your anchor break up?

Jackson nodded. "Okay. I'll figure something out before the next game. How'd you get Scott to not freak out at practice?"

Stiles let himself grin. "I tied him to the goal posts, and I lobbed lacrosse balls at him."

Jackson barked a laugh. "You _didn't._ "

"I did." Stiles felt... good. The conversation should be awkward or weird, but somehow, it wasn't, despite the years of bullying between them. "It actually helped my aim a bit. I wouldn't mind practicing on you, if you're interested."

"I'll consider it. But, uh, isn't Scott your BFF?" Jackson asked.

Stiles shrugged. "He kissed Lydia earlier that day. I was pissed. It wasn't exactly a hardship."

Jackson frowned, expression closing off. "You were sitting with her yesterday," he remembered.

"Yeah, cause she asked me to." Stiles rolled his eyes. Duh.

"Why?"

He shook his head. "Ask her yourself."

"You think she'd tell me?" Jackson scoffed. "Please, she keeps her own council." He crossed his arms. "Just... don't get any ideas, Stilinski. We might be on a break, but she's still my girl."

Stiles considered Jackson. The tension in his shoulders, the tightness in his eyes. "I'm not after her anymore. We're just friends." He smirked. "You're still her boy, I think, but you'll need to grovel if you want her to take you back."

Jackson flushed and spluttered.

Stiles turned back to the school. "Fun as this has been, I'm hungry. Good luck dealing with your Alpha."

Jackson's hand closed hard around his wrist, just the wrong side of too tight.

"Dude, _ow_. Human, here."

Jackson relaxed his grip, but didn't let go. "The other alpha," he said, "the one from that night. Is he still crazy?"

"No." Stiles turned, frowning like he couldn't guess what Jackson was angling at. "Why?"

"The one who bit me," Jackson shivered, eyes far away. "I can feel him. He's... He's completely gone. I don't wanna go anywhere near him. But I get the feeling... I think I was wrong. I think being a werewolf is a team sport."

"Wow, puppy learned a new trick." Stiles grinned obnoxiously. "I didn't know you knew how to admit you were wrong about something!"

Jackson bared sharp teeth. "I'm not normally wrong about anything, _dick_."

"Might wanna watch it," Stiles mused. "After all, if you wanna join a different pack, your options are Scottー"

Jackson's snort was derisive.

"Or me." He smiled. "And the Hales. But they'll only take you if I give the okay."

Jackson blanched. "You're joking."

"I'm not. I joined first." He smiled and patted the hand still closed around his wrist. "So, I guess you'll have to convince me. And you should know, I intend to invite Lydia to join us. Her brains are more useful to me than your brawn, no offense."

Jackson's eyes narrowed. "How am I supposed to convince you?"

"You're smart, or Lydia wouldn't keep you around." Stiles pulled his arm free. "Figure it out."

He walked away, Jackson's gaze heavy on the back of his neck. Stiles felt restless, a buzzing picking up just under his skin.

This was either a very bad idea or a great one.

* * *

When Lydia waved him down, he sat across from her with a tired grin and a tray full of... something. It was food at least. Probably. He hadn't looked, and most of the good food was already sold out.

"What have you been up to?" she asked, twirling a strand of hair around a finger. "Not like you to be late for lunch."

"Oh, this and that." Stiles shrugged. Her curiosity pulled gently at his attention. "Talking to your boyfriend."

"I don't have a boyfriend," she countered, perfect eyebrows lifting imperiously. "So I don't know who you mean."

Stiles could feel when Jackson entered the cafeteria and knew he'd heard what Lydia said. He hummed.

"That's too bad. What would it take for you to have a boyfriend again?" Stiles leaned his cheek on his palm, smirk tugging at his lips.

Lydia smiled. "The would-be boyfriend should already know what he needs to do." Her eyes slid away from his, probably finding Jackson's. "So there's no point in me telling you, since you aren't into me that way anymore."

"That obvious?" He asked.

"I have eyes, Stiles." She rolled them. "Which leaves me wondering why you're interested."

Stiles took a bite of his lunch to avoid answering.

"Unless, of course..." Her eyes were calculating and cold. "But _you_ wouldn't care, unless..." She sat up straighter and pulled out her phone.

Stiles' vibrated in his pocket.

_Wailing Woman: Is Jackson a werewolf?_

Lydia was dangerously smart. He was not going to rest until she was firmly a member of his Pack. He was not taking any chances of her choosing someone else's side.

_Stiles: What led you to that?_

_Wailing Woman: You would only be interested in Jackson's chances with me if you were considering inviting him to your pack. As you invited me first (and obviously like me better), he and I would need to be on good terms before you issue him an invite._

_Wailing Woman: Am I wrong?_

Lydia looked beautifully smug. Stiles gave an adoring sigh.

_Stiles: Of course not. Marry me?_

_Wailing Woman: Don't be absurd._

"I'm willing to make an exception to my usual rules of engagement." Lydia leaned back in her seat, tucking her phone away. "Privately would be fine. But only this once."

Whatever that meant.

A chair screeched across the lunch room. Lydia and Stiles both looked up and over. Jackson was standing, chair pushed back. He said something, waved off Danny's question, and turned.

Stiles could feel Lydia's interest spike with her anticipation.

Jackson stalked over, predatory, all eyes in the cafeteria on him, conversations dying down.

"Lydia Martin," he said, voice carrying well enough to be heard by everyone in the room. "I'm sorry." A chorus of gasps circled the room, muttering picking up. Stiles felt his heartbeat skip sympathetically with Lydia's.

Lydia raised her chin, regal and chilled. Stiles could feel the shy pleasure hidden beneath.

"And? Why should I forgive you?" Lydia asked. Stiles felt suddenly like he was witnessing a performance piece, like this was scripted in some way. Choreographed.

Jackson's lips tilted in the slightest suggestion of a smirk. And then he knelt in front of her.

In no doubt designer jeans.

On the filthy cafeteria floor.

"Because you still love me." Jackson said, but it felt like a question. A prompt.

"And you love me," she answered. Stiles could feel her disbelief warring with her approval and desire. (Gross.)

"Take me back?" Jackson asked. His voice was lower now, almost private after the demonstration he began with.

Lydia looked down at him for a breathless moment, their audience leaning in, everyone waiting for her decision.

She nodded once. Jackson stood, pulling her up and into his arms, kissing her once before pressing their cheeks together. Wolf whistles sounded from each corner of the room.

Stiles recognized the gesture from a wildlife documentary. He was scenting her, marking them both as being connected in some way.

Maybe he should make his own documentary: The Mating Habits of Popular High School Supernaturals.

Their display done, Jackson took his usual seat beside Lydia, chair pulled close. The rest of the cafeteria returned to its usual dull roar of noise, no doubt excited about the new gossip. Stiles felt the slightest stirring in his chest, but it wasn't from his bond with Lydia. It wasn't from the tangle, either.

"So, Stilinski, what were you and Lyds texting about so seriously?" Jackson asked. His casual tone struck a discordant note with the jealousy in his eyes.

Lydia scoffed. "Don't push your luck so soon, Jackson. He was only confirming something for me." Her eyes were glittering and her smile was sharp when she said, "How are the new fangs treating you?"

Jackson snorted, unsurprised. "Well enough. The nose has been killing me, though." His expression turned pensive, nose tilting up, nostrils flaring. "Actually... Your perfume doesn't bother me at all. It smells like it always has."

"Well, isn't that interesting." Lydia eyed him like a specimen under her microscope. "I think," she dragged one finger over the back of his hand and up his forearm, "I'm going to enjoy testing out all your _new limits_."

Jackson blushed to his ears.

Stiles flinched at the possessive pulse of lust he could feel from Lydia. "Oh God, please don't do that in front of me."

"You'll have to get used to it eventually," Lydia noted, rolling her eyes, but mercifully she reined it in. "I have some things I'll need to update you on later, Jackson, but only if you're serious about all this. I won't risk Stiles or I for a whim."

Jackson frowned. "Neither of you can feel him. He isn't safe. Not even for me. Not right now." He shuddered. "I don't want to meet him. The sooner I can get him out of my head, the better."

Stiles nodded. "When you figure out what you can offer us, and why I should vouch for you, let me know."

"My opinion wasn't all you needed?" Lydia asked.

Jackson and Stiles both shook their heads.

"After everything," Stiles said, "I need something a little more than just that. But it was a necessary component. Telling me what he can offer us is the other requirement. Once he can convince me, I'll talk to Peter."

"Hang on," Jackson muttered, leaning across the table. "Does Scott not factor into this at all for you?"

"Scott said no." Stiles looked down at his hands. "I said yes."

"But you and he..."

"I know," Stiles said. "Trust me. I know."

"Well, I think that's the most impressive apology I've seen so far," Danny said, dropping his tray beside Stiles'. Stiles jumped.

Jackson smirked up at him. "Thanks, man."

"Impressive fuck ups require impressive apologies," Lydia said, adjusting to the subject change with ease, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Danny passed Jackson his backpack and sat down. "So, what are we talking about?"

"Scott and Allison," Lydia lied smoothly. "It looks like they may be on again as well."

"Really?" Danny frowned. "I saw her earlier, and she didn't look... Well, she looked miserable, frankly."

"She hasn't said anything to me," Lydia mused. "I'll seek her out later to check in. Us girls need to stick together."

Stiles shrugged when the others looked at him. "Scott was very happy this morning, and when he started back up with the Allison, Allison, Allison stuff, I checked out."

Danny nodded, patting his shoulder. "I understand completely."

Stiles warmed at the touch. Even if Danny wasn't Pack, the contact was friendly and comforting.

What remained of lunch passed quickly, and the conversation flowed easily. Stiles felt a weighty gaze on him more than once, but it was always Jackson.

Stiles wondered what answer he would come to.


	5. Peter

Stiles had only been home for about ten minutes when he felt abruptly aware of his pack bonds, like they'd just been pulled on somehow. If he focused, a sound was almost audible, a sound like "come here," and "I'm waiting."

He walked to his back door and peered through the glass. Peter Hale lounged against a tree just on the edge of the property line.

The draw only increased, his heart beating out a tango in his chest. When Peter met his eyes, the bond in his chest sang like a plucked harp string.

Peter tipped his head and gave what, on anyone else, Stiles might have called a flirty wave, wiggling his fingers with a small smile.

Stiles swallowed thickly, forcing the door open when it stuck on its track. He took his time, frowning at the insistent pulse of the bond in his chest. He pulled off each of his socks before stepping down into the grass.

How much was him, and how much was the pack bond? Where did it begin and end? Could he trust this?

He didn't trust Peter yet, not really, not as more than the best option of a few really bad ones. No matter what his instincts insisted.

Derek would make a shit alpha. Scott would be even worse. Based on Jackson, the newcomer wasn't even worth considering. Which left Peter, winner by default.

Peter who was still smiling, like he knew exactly what was going through Stiles' head, like he knew exactly how torn and divided he was.

"It's okay," Peter said, as he closed the distance. "I won't bite." He bared his fangs in a predatory grin. "You, anyway."

Stiles nearly stumbled, bare feet sliding in the grass. "You're not exactly helping your case here."

"No?" Peter's eyes half closed, giving him a lazy, indolent look. "Interesting, considering how supportive of me you've been with my nephew."

Stiles flushed, scuffed one foot over the grass. "One of us needs to seem sure of you, and he's not ready for that yet. And anyway, it's bad for morale. Dissent in the ranks and all that."

Peter took a step toward him. His eyes flashed red, but it wasn't a threat. Stiles could feel that in his chest, coiled around his heart.

It felt more like the best kind of promise.

"You are too good to be true, Stiles." Peter took another step and another, until they were toe to toe. One hand slid against his hip, holding on lightly.

"Just being practical," Stiles murmured. His head spun with Peter's proximity. The tango in his chest redoubled its efforts.

Peter rubbed his other hand over his head, slow and lingering, the buzz catching along his palm, his fingers. He cupped the back of his head briefly before sliding down to give his neck a squeeze.

Stiles' eyes closed, shivering, toes curling in the grass, and his head fell forward to give Peter more room to do it again.

Peter slid his arm around his waist. "Such a sweet thing you can be," he cooed. "I'm going to take good care of you, don't worry."

"Tha's creepy," Stiles muttered. He swayed forward and dropped his forehead against Peter's shoulder. "This is creepy, too. You're not actually a vampire, are you? You weren't waiting on my invite to come in?"

"Do you feel caught in my thrall?"

"Not helping," Stiles complained. But Peter was warm and solid, and it felt nice to let someone else watch his back for a little bit. Nice and _necessary_. He _needed_ this.

Fuck.

"I suppose we should get down to business, then," Peter said. His hand stroked up and down his back. He didn't seem inclined to separate from Stiles, his touch _lingering_.

Stiles forced himself to draw back, ignoring the complaint he could feel inside himself. He wanted to bask in Peter's attention and his touch, but he also _didn't_ want to do that. He wanted to talk about the latest developments with the man who swore to protect him and his people.

Maybe if he thought that firmly enough, he'd actually believe it outweighed his newfound desire to cuddle.

Stiles forced himself to take a large step backwards. Another. "We should go inside. I have a lot to update you on."

Peter's eyes shone with something covetous. "Lead the way."

Stiles turned his back on the predator and forced the sliding door back open to invite it inside. Peter slid it closed like it wasn't broken.

They moved into the kitchen, and Stiles gestured vaguely at the table. Peter took the seat across from his usual seat. Stiles wondered if he could smell the difference.

Shaking the thought off, Stiles paced in front of the table. "Jackson is a werewolf, and he wants to join us." Start less personal, he decided. "And we have a rogue alpha in our territory."

Peter's eyes flashed. "Derek and I are tracking him. We're trying to avoid hunters at the same time, so it's been slow. The Patriarch has a number of friends with him." The red in his eyes grew darker, colder.

Stiles couldn't tear his gaze away. "You'll let me know if anything changes? You'll make sure Dad is safe?"

"You have my word on both counts. Now, what did you tell your friend, Jackson?"

Stiles broke eye contact and resumed pacing. "He's not my friend." He waved that aside. "But I told him he needed to prove his worth to me, and he needed to be on good terms with Lydia again."

"And has Ms. Martin decided to join us yet?" Peter asked, ignoring Stiles' correction.

"Not yet, but also... I think so?" Stiles slowed to a stop, frowning. How was he supposed to explain? There was an expectation there, like it was only a matter of time.

"Care to elaborate?"

Stiles weighed his words. "Lydia might be waiting to test you the way I'm testing Jackson." He picked at his cuticles, bit his lip. "And, actually, I felt something earlier. When Jackson and Lydia reconciled. It felt... It was like a pack bond, but also not. Between Jackson and I. It faded away again, but for a second..."

Stiles looked up in time to catch the startled look on Peter's face. His face smoothed back over, but the damage was already done.

"Does that mean something to you?"

"It could be nothing," Peter hedged.

"But it could also be something."

He sighed. "Yes. But I need to look into something first. Ask around. I'll get back to you. I want to be sure first."

"Do you promise?"

"I promise." Peter leaned forward, linking his hands together. "Why did you tell Jackson to prove himself? Don't you already know whether or not he'd be a good fit?"

Stiles blinked, distracted. "Oh, I mean. Yeah? But _he_ doesn't know why he's a good fit." He frowned. "I'm not gonna let him go halves here. He has to join us with both eyes open, both feet planted." Stiles lightly stamped one foot down with his words.

Peter's smile was warm. "Why is he a good fit?"

Stiles resumed his pacing. "Jackson is a grade-A douchebag. He is genuinely the worst. He simultaneously has a superiority complex _and_ an inferiority complex, and he can be a major pain in the ass because of it."

"Charming," Peter snorted.

"I'm not done," Stiles complained. "Jackson is also a bully and a snob. _But_ ," Stiles spun back around, pointing at Peter before he could interrupt again, "he's genuinely an incredible strategist. The lacrosse team was shit before he made captain. He's smart enough and cunning enough that Lydia keeps him around. Plus, he's loyal to the people who matter to him."

"How many people is that?"

Stiles shrugged. "Four? Including his parents. I need him to understand that that number is going to increase, and that I expect his devotion to the Pack to be comparable. Not the same, definitely, but close."

Peter hummed. "You've given this a lot of thought."

"I guess," he shrugged. "We've known each other since kindergarten, so it's not like I've been pressed for time or anything." Stiles snorted and gave a rueful grin. "He's the reason Scott and I became friends."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean we were already school friends, but Scott had asthma, right?" Stiles missed asthmatic Scott a little. At least that Scott had time for him. "Well, Jackson was a bully even then, and uh. He earned me my first trip to the principal's office." He grinned, broad and unrepentant. "I was probably six? I punched him in the nose."

Peter laughed.

Mom had nodded sternly through the whole meeting with the principal and earnestly agreed to see Stiles "appropriately disciplined" at home. Stiles' hands had been wet with nervous sweat, so sure his mom was going to send him to his room forever.

And then they'd been in the car, not a word spoken between them, Stiles too nervous to say anything, despite his normal rambling. And then, she pulled them into the McDonalds' drive-through.

"Two hot fudge sundaes, thanks," she'd said.

She turned and shot him a conspiratorial grin. "I'm disciplining you appropriately," she told him. "For defending your friend from a bully, you get an ice cream."

Stiles gaped, wide-eyed with wonder. "I do?"

"You do." She ruffled his hair. "I'm so proud of you for standing up for Scott. You did the right thing. I'm not going to ground you for that."

His dad had agreed, although he asked that Stiles pretend to be grounded if Jackson or his teachers ever asked.

But they both let him have cookies that night after dinner, and they read him his favorite story before bed (with the voices), and Scott hung out all day after school the next day.

Stiles swallowed down his sadness. He'd forgotten how cool his mom could be, how happy they'd all been. "Um, well, anyway, Jackson sucks, and I've given him two black eyes now, and he's gotten me detention at least a dozen times, but I think he'd make a good werewolf."

Peter didn't ask about the change in his mood. "When you think he's ready, tell Derek." 

"Is there some kind of ritual, or is it just BAM! Pack?" Stiles asked, sitting down across from him.

He rolled his eyes. "Somewhere in the middle. For Lydia, an exchange of words will do, but for Jackson there is a bit more involved as he already has an Alpha."

"How come my joining didn't take words?"

Peter's head tilted. "What do you mean? I offered you the bite, which is an implicit Pack invite, and you accepted conditionally."

"And uh, what were the conditions?" Stiles winced. He should probably know this.

"Protect you and yours, and accept that if I go crazy again, you'll kill me." Peter's eyes flared red.

Stiles frowned. "But I was Pack before I said all that."

"Because you didn't need to say it. Your actions made your position clear." Peter smiled. "Your actions meant you accepted my offer, but not the bite."

"Would I have even turned?" Or did being a witch mean he was immune like Lydia?

Peter nodded. "I think so. Werewolves can be witches as well. It's just not common. Most witches prefer not to lose their ability to use common ingredients."

"Wolfsbane?"

"And mistletoe, rowan." He thought for a moment. "Some spells can't be cast by werewolves either. But that won't be a problem for you. I have no interest in turning you, unless you change your mind first."

"That's reassuring." Stiles held his hand out, palm up, and called his mage light into existance. "I'd hate to lose this when I just got it."

Peter whistled. "Isn't that just _lovely_."

Stiles could tell he meant it. He felt warm. "You can hold it if you want. I've been working on making them a little more tangible."

"That's possible?" Peter asked, reaching out and delicately, gently, manipulating the orb into his own palm.

Stiles concentrated. It was still a little too nebulous. Too intangible. "It's possible, but it's hard to do on my own. I can touch them no matter how wispy." He watched the pads of Peter's fingers, searching for the moment they made contact.

And then, it was like making the orb solid was the most natural thing in the world. He exhaled, and the orb solidified, firm in Peter's warm palm.

"Oh," Peter breathed. "That was faster than I expected." He turned the ball over in his hand. Stiles could almost feel it, like the sensation was reaching him through the manifestation of his magic.

Stiles shrugged. "I've been toying with it whenever I could sneak the light out discretely. The stuff I _want_ to read about is either level locked or in Polish, so for now, this is what I can do."

"Level locked?" Peter didn't raise his eyes from the orb, rolling it from one hand to the other. He tapped it with his nail, then a claw. Stiles shivered.

"I'm not allowed to read about the spells I'm not ready for. The book's making decisions about my training in the absence of a teacher, I think."

"Can I see it?" Peter met his eyes, red swirling through before dissipating just as quickly.

Stiles nodded. He closed his eyes, holding his hand just above the table. Aside from the mage light, the grimoire had taught him one other trick.

Lesson two, summon the book.

He concentrated on the book's energy signature, calling it into being under his palm.

When Stiles opened his eyes, the grimoire was in front of him.

"You are just full of surprises," Peter laughed under his breath.

"That's me." He turned the grimoire toward Peter and nodded. "Go ahead and open it. I don't know what page you'll get, but you won't see anything you aren't supposed to."

Peter pulled the grimoire closer, running gentle hands over the cover. Stiles discretely recalled his mage light. " _Beautiful_. It's been some time since I've seen craftsmanship of this caliber."

He opened the book, scanned the page, and laughed.

Stiles read the page upside down.

_For the witch's Alpha._

"When _I_ asked about werewolves, you gave me _Polish_ , you traitor," he grumbled.

"Stiles, was this page written about you?" Peter asked, voice low.

"I don't know how it could be. My mom died when I was eight, and my grandma when I was six. No one else knew me." Stiles frowned. "Why?"

"Our Mischief is a strong and loyal young man," Peter read aloud. Stiles swallowed thickly. "But he can be reckless when the people he loves are in danger. He does best with more people to look after, so don't hold back on rebuilding your pack. Just remember to make time for him one on one."

"That's not possible." Stiles gripped his thighs under the table. How could this page exist? Who wrote it?

"He's also much smarter than even you've realized, Alpha. Mischief won't be kept in the dark for long, so you'd best prepare yourself for when he..."

Peter trailed off, but Stiles read the bottom of the page. ... _learns the truth of it all._

"What does that mean?" Stiles asked.

"Who is 'Mischief'?" Peter countered.

"Me. _What does that mean?_ " Stiles demanded.

Peter closed the book. "I swear to you, as your Alpha, that I will not keep that information from you for long, but it's too soon to bring it up. The Pack is too new, and you're too young." He took Stiles' hand, his grip firm, his eyes apologetic. "Please, leave it be for now."

Stiles narrowed his eyes. "I _will_ figure it out. The possibly prophetic grimoire said so."

"I can live with that." Peter shook his shoulders out, still holding Stiles' hand. Stiles decided not to say anything. "What are your plans for learning Polish?"

Stiles winced. "Duolingo?"

Peter raised his eyebrows. "Will that be fast enough?"

"Will anything?" Stiles leaned back. "I can't just wave a hand and suddenly understand Polish. Or, at least, I don't think I can."

He leveled a glare on his grimoire.

"Well, if you wind up needing to enroll in an online program, let me know. Money won't be an issue," Peter declared flippantly.

"Uh. Why won't it be?"

Peter smirked. "It just so happens, I'm coming into money very soon now."

Stiles opened his mouth to ask, but his phone rang, the Imperial March jarring and loud. "Sorry, that's my dad."

Peter released his hand and waved for him to answer.

"Heyo, Daddio, what's up?"

"There's a curfew in effect starting tonight, Stiles." His dad sounded tired. "I don't know how long it will last, but after about 9 p.m., stay inside for the time being."

Stiles' brow wrinkled. "Is everything okay?"

"If it was, there wouldn't be a curfew. Just stay safe, okay, kid?"

"Only if you will."

His dad laughed, but it was half-hearted. "I have to go. Be good tonight."

"Okay. Love you."

"You, too."

The Sheriff hung up. Stiles frowned at his phone for a beat.

He turned to Peter. "The Alpha did something, didn't he."

Peter sighed. "Animal mutilation, I'm afraid. Before or after turning Jackson, I'm not sure."

"Well, shit." Stiles rubbed a hand over the top of his head. "Have you gotten any closer to tracking him down?"

"No, he's still too unpredictable. We can barely figure out what part of the Preserve he's in." Peter ran a hand through his own hair. "We've been trying to keep him away from populated areas, but Derek and I can only cover so much ground between us. Even the hunters are having trouble pinning him down."

Stiles tapped restlessly against the table. "You need a bigger pack to hunt bigger prey." He nodded to himself. "Jacskon'll figure it out soon. Be ready to bring him in."

"He'll need training. He's still brand new."

"His control's better than Scott's already." Stiles shrugged. "He'll probably be easy to train."

"We can't afford anything else."

They both sighed. "I wish," Stiles said slowly. "I wish there was a way I could help you."

Stiles felt his heart clench, something tugging strangely. Not a pack bond, but something else. Something further away trying to get his attention.

Stiles glanced behind him, but all he saw was his kitchen. He frowned, shook the feeling off.

"I'm sure you'll figure something out." Peter grinned. "You're very resourceful. Now, I do think I hear Derek calling me. He may have found something."

Stiles nodded quickly. "You should go. But _be careful_. I'm invested in you, Alpha. I don't want to have to find a new one."

Peter's eyes flashed. "If I have any say, you'll never have to."

Stiles let himself grin. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

Peter stepped around the table and bent down. He brushed his cheek along Stiles'. Like Jackson had with Lydia. Stiles' skin buzzed wherever Peter touched.

When he pulled back, he looked smug. "I had to say good bye to my favorite witch."

Stiles was too dazed from the close contact to retort properly. Peter ran a hand over the top of his head.

"See you soon, Stiles."

Stiles nodded and watched as Peter let himself out the back door.

It wasn't until Peter was definitely long gone that Stiles remembered: "Fuck, I didn't ask him if he got a phone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally going to be attached to the previous chapter, but I'm sure everyone can see how busy that would have been lol. I hope you guys continue to enjoy where I take this. I have a lot of plans percolating ;P


	6. Jackson Makes His Play

Stiles chose a seat toward the back in chemistry, resigned to sitting alone now that Scott and Allison were back together. If he was lucky, he'd be able to avoid Harris's misplaced ire.

Allison walked into class with Lydia on her arm, their heads bent close. Allison looked terrible, dark circles under her eyes, make-up barely done. Lydia's face said business as usual, but through their connection, her concern was palpable. 

They might actually be better friends than Lydia seemed ready to admit, either to Stiles or herself.

Jackson sat down beside him.

"Um. What?" Stiles said intelligently. "That's not your seat."

"Be grateful for my company, Stilinski. Or do you want to sit beside Lovesick for a whole class period and have to do all the work?" Jackson said, imperious.

Caught off guard, Stiles snorted. "Are you describing Scott or yourself?"

"Scott, obviously." Jackson rolled his eyes. "Lydia and I are dividing and conquering."

Stiles glanced around him to where Lydia and Allison were talking, expressions serious. He wanted to know what they were saying, but there was no way Jackson would eavesdrop for him without also being a dick about it.

"And Danny?" Stiles raised his eyebrows. "Don't you and he normally partner up?"

"Sure, normally. But shit right now is hardly normal." Jackson flushed. "He, uh. He knows."

Stiles fumbled the notebook he was pulling out of his bag. "He _what_?" Stiles hissed.

"I didn't _tell_ him, but yeah. He told me he knew about me last night, and he was staying out of everything going on until things settled down. But I have his blessing, so. It's fine. He wants me to join up with people who aren't likely to get me killed." Jackson scratched the back of his head. "Still not sure what gave me away..."

Stiles stared down at his notebook. Holy shit, was Danny in the know? Was he magic too? No, the _odds_ of that... But Stiles and Lydia were drawn together. Wasn't it possible? Had they all been drawn to each other in preparation for this?

Did he have to worry about Fate now, too?

Stiles craned his head around to find Danny in his preferred seat at the back. Danny noticed him looking and winked.

Winked!

Stiles' fingers itched. He had _so_ many questions. Starting withー

"Hey, no, I know that face." Jackson poked his cheek with a scowl. "You're gonna mind your business until Danny gives the okay. He doesn't wanna be involved."

Stiles groaned. "Jackson, come on, you can't dangle this in front of me! It's not fair! I have so many _questions_. I'm not gonna _involve him_ , I just wanna _know_."

"Tough shit, Stilinski. I made a promise."

Stiles glowered at him. He couldn't ask him to break a promise, especially not when he was auditioning for the Pack. And keeping promises was a _good_ thing. Damn it.

"What the hell are you doing in my seat, Jackson?" Scott demanded.

Stiles' head whipped around, hands raising at once, already playing peace keeper. "It's fine. I told him he could since you're probably sitting with Allison anyway."

Scott crossed his arms and looked away. He looked almost sullen. "Allison is sitting with Lydia."

So Stiles wasn't his first choice for seat. He tried to ignore the pang in his chest, but he wasn't very successful.

"That sounds like a you problem, McCall," Jackson sneered. Stiles wanted to defend Scott, but... Well, it _was_ a Scott problem. Especially since Stiles didn't seem to be a priority for Scott anymore. Who was _he_ supposed to sit with if not Scott?

"Take a seat, Mr. McCall," Harris drawled from behind his podium. "Class is starting."

Scott went, but his expression was stormy. Stiles fiddled with his pencil, frowning. Now he cares? Where was he when Stiles was going to sit alone at lunch because Scott was stalking Allison? Where was he when Stiles wanted to tell him about magic?

Jackson bumped his shoulder. "Keep looking down and Harris is gonna call on you next," he warned.

Stiles sat back at attention, catching himself back up. Harris's eyes skated past him when he next looked for "volunteers."

"Thanks, dude," Stiles whispered.

"Whatever."

For the first time in what felt like weeks, Stiles made it through an entire period of chemistry without getting into an argument with, getting talked down to by, or getting a detention from Harris. Not that the man didn't spend the whole hour intermittently glaring at him, but still. The reprieve was a pleasant surprise.

Plus their experiment actually turned out how it was supposed to.

"Hey, do you have something on Harris or what?" Stiles muttered to Jackson as they were packing their bags.

"No. I just don't cause problems in his class if I can help it." The _unlike you and McCall_ went implied.

Still, the lack of outright hostility was unpleasant and anxiety inducing. Stiles felt like he was about to get crushed under the weight of the other shoe.

Harris's glare followed him out of the room, along with Scott's look of bemusement.

* * *

"Are you mad at me?" Scott asked Stiles on their way to the locker room after school.

Stiles didn't turn. "No. Why?"

"Well, like... You sat with Jackson in chem? We hate Jackson!" Scott sounded put out.

"He's not so bad." He shrugged. "He's an asshole, but he's a pretty good lab partner. And he can be pretty funny."

"Dude," Scott complained.

"Plus, Lydia and I are friends now, so her boyfriend and I are gonna need to get along at least a little," Stiles said, shifting his backpack.

"What? Since when are you and Lydia friends?" Scott's expression shifted to a wide smile. "Are you planning to win her over? We could go on double dates!"

"No, definitely not." He shook his head. "We're just friends. We have a lot more in common than we realized, but we'd be a terrible couple."

"Aw, dude, no! Lydia would be lucky to have you!"

Stiles rolled his eyes. "She _is_ lucky to have me. As a friend. Seriously, dude, it's fine. I'm over her. We're much better friends than anything else, trust me." Their bond didn't feel like it could ever shift away from platonic. It was like the thing only had one setting, and it was firmly fixed there. No hacking or fiddling possible.

"You're seriously over her? Just like that?" Scott asked.

"Just like that." He shrugged. "I was going to tell you the other day, but you blew me off."

"That's what you wanted to talk to me about?"

"No, but it would have come up."

"Well, why don't we hang out on Saturday? We can talk then!" Scott beamed.

Stiles shot him a wary smile. "I have plans in the afternoon, but you could come over for dinner? We can get pizza and wings, play some COD, and I can update you on everything that's been happening?"

"Sounds great!" Scott beamed. "Saturday night, then!"

* * *

In the locker room, Jackson bumped their shoulders together, lightly enough to be considered friendly. "Stay after practice for a bit. I need to talk to you."

"Sure," Stiles agreed easily. "I'll catch up to you after." It wasn't like staying a little after practice would get in the way of him seeing his dad tonight. He could take a bit of extra time.

Scott narrowed his eyes. "It's weird, dude," he muttered. "Why is Jackson even talking to you?"

 _Because he's a werewolf, and I'm his ticket to a better pack. In other words, he needs something from me._ Stiles thought, rueful.

"Lydia," he said.

Scott thought about that and eventually nodded. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense."

Stiles forced himself to unclench his hand. No other reason someone as cool as Jackson would want to talk to someone as weird as Stiles.

He dressed out quickly. The sooner he got out on the field, the sooner he could work off some of his nervous energy. It felt like his skin was too tight. He wanted to run, and then keep running.

Practice provided that up to a point. He lost himself in it for a little while, but when he switched over to drills, he felt a little like he was wasting his time. The ball went wide, missing the goal by a long shot. He was a bench warmer. The ball pinged off the goal post. What point was there for him to practice so hard? The ball pinged off the other side. Why should he even bother? The ball fell short, nowhere close. He didn't even need a goalie to stop him from scoring.

He was plenty good at stopping himself.

"Drop your shoulder when you throw." Stiles jumped as a hand landed on his shoulder. "It's throwing off your aim."

Stiles leveled Jackson with a disbelieving look. He was a bench warmer. Jackson didn't need to help him with lacrosse to get into the Pack. That was never part of the test.

Jackson only raised his eyebrows, waiting.

Stiles turned back to the empty net, huffing out a breath. What did he have to lose? Certainly not the game next weekend. Stiles aimed for the center, relaxed his shoulders, and threw. The ball swished into the net, dead center.

Stiles looked down at his stick, slack-jawed. He turned it over in his hands, his earlier irritation falling away. "It went where I wanted it to go."

Jackson smirked. "Told you so."

"Jackson, holy shit." Was his aim actually good? Was he just too tense?

"Practice like that from now on, and you might even get called off the bench." Jackson patted his shoulder and wandered off, but Stiles was still reeling.

Jackson was a much better teammate than Stiles was expecting, now that they were on the same side. Was he always this helpful? Stiles watched him approach another of their teammates, demonstrating a move and watching as the teammate followed suit, correcting his stance, before again moving on.

Jackson might actually be a better packmate than Stiles was anticipating. Stiles turned back to the net, eyes losing focus. It would be great to have someone like Jackson around to explain werewolfing to other new werewolves, assuming they got around to expanding their Pack.

Stiles licked his lips. He threw the ball at the net again, aiming for the top right corner. It hit exactly where he aimed, again. So it really wasn't a fluke. He could actually find his way off the bench at this rate. He laughed a little, turning to tell Scott, but Scott was over by the stands, talking to Allison. Lydia, sitting beside her, caught his eyes and waved. He could feel a sense of approval coming along their bond. She must have seen the goal he made.

Stiles waved back and turned back to his drills. He could always tell Scott later.

* * *

After Scott left to meet up with Allison, Jackson was the last person on the field, checking over their stick rack, looking for damage. Stiles, already dressed again, came up behind him.

"No flashing eyes or claws today. Find your anchor?" Stiles asked, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.

"Yeah, but I didn't need it for practice. McCall was irritating, but he's no longer a threat, so it was actually fine." Jackson tipped his head back. "I thought my instincts would be going crazy, but... I know my team. I trust them." Jackson turned around, and his expression turned stern. "I'm nothing like McCall," he said.

Stiles wrinkled his nose. "Duh?"

"You don't have to worry about me flaking out on you," he explained. "I take my commitments seriously. Both on the field and off."

"I'm gonna need a little more than _that_." He rolled his eyes, but the reminder that Scott wasn't as reliable as Stiles thought stung. Scott was supposed to be his brother, wasn't he? So where was he? Even now? Weren't they supposed to be a team?

"Look, a pack is like a team, right? We work together so we all win." Jackson crossed his arms. Stiles could hear the echo of Peter's explanation in the words, could feel his own understanding of Pack as well.

"Yeah," he agreed. "A team. Or a family."

"I spent a lot of time thinking about this, both before getting the bite and after, about the kind of people I would want on my team, and I understood what you meant yesterday, about taking Lydia before me."

"I thought I spelled it out pretty clearly." Stiles raised his eyebrows.

Jackson shook his head. "No, you're like Lydia. You don't always say what you mean." He huffed, but he was smiling a little. "No wonder you stopped pursuing her. You'd eat each other alive during your first fight. No way you'd bend." Jackson's eyes flashed.

Stiles couldn't deny it. No way he'd be able to go through the pageant he watched them perform yesterday.

"No," Jackson continued, "what I figured out is the kind of team _you_ want."

"Oh, really? What do I want then?" Stiles gestured impatiently for him to continue, foot tapping. Moment of truth time.

Jackson let his eyes trail lazily over Stiles. Stiles felt like he was pinned under glass. "You don't need brawn with two werewolves, and I'm not as smart as Lydia, but what you value most is loyalty and devotion. Your Alpha killed the people who took his last pack from him. Can you get more devoted than that?" He cracked a grin that could only be described as ruthless. His teeth were sharp. "Anyone ever tell you how much of a Slytherin you are, Stilinski?"

Stiles let himself smile, but it was without much warmth. Scott thought he was a Gryffindor. "And how does that help you? Who doesn't want loyalty?"

"Do you remember when we were in middle school?" Jackson asked instead of answering.

"Uh, yeah? What about it?"

"Danny came out to me in seventh grade. He had a crush on a boy in the grade above us." Jackson's eyes flashed. "The boy he liked didn't take learning about it very well."

Stiles blinked. "I don't remember that."

Jackson's teeth were _very_ sharp. "When he came after Danny for being _a freak_ ," he spit, "I tackled him to the ground in front of his shitty friends and broke his nose. I got suspended for it."

The grin splitting his face said he'd do it again.

"So, we've both gotten in trouble for fighting," Stiles noted. And both defending their best friend. There was still a slight crook to Jackson's nose where it hadn't healed quite right. "Why would you do anything like that for me?"

Jackson stepped into his space. "Did you know that you mutter to yourself when you're sitting on the bench?"

Stiles faltered. "What?"

"You mutter to yourself, comments about our team, the other team, the weather, homework you could be doing." Jackson was still grinning. "Every now and again, something you say is actually helpful. About one in ten. Like, you made this comment about one of the forwards always feinting left at the serve. I used that to knock him to the ground and take the ball."

Stiles flushed. His head was spinning a little bit. He might be holding his breath.

Jackson actually listened to the shit he said? On the regular? How long had he been paying attention?

"Coach told me about it beginning of this year when I made Captain. Said he always liked getting your perspective on things because you noticed things other people didn't."

Jackson grabbed Stiles' wrist. Stiles tugged weakly.

"I don't like you, Stilinski, but I don't have to. If you needed me to like you, we wouldn't even be having this conversation; after all, the feeling is mutual." Jackson leaned until they were practically sharing breath. "But you're useful to me. And I _know_ that I'll be useful to you."

With his free hand, Stiles pulled his phone out. Hs took a step back, and another, breathing hard, turning his back and calling Derek.

"Stiles?" Derek asked, answering on the second ring. "What's wrong? Are you okay?"

"Jackson's ready. When do you want him?" Stiles turned over his shoulder, meeting Jackson's eyes.

He looked floored, but only for a moment, before the expression was replaced with something insufferable.

Stiles hated to give him an even bigger head, but... Jackson _got_ it. Stiles didn't have time to devise more hoops for Jackson to jump through, not when he understood what Stiles was looking for so thoroughly.

"Already? I thought you said you were _testing_ him, making sure he was ready," Derek grumbled.

"I did. He is. He passed." Stiles huffed a rueful laugh. "Apparently he knows me as well as I know him."

Jackson's face gained an edge of concern, like he hadn't thought it would go both ways. Stiles smirked. Idiot. Like Stiles would ever consider someone he didn't already know.

Derek heaved a sigh. "Okay. Okay, right. Can you meet us in the Preserve? Near the house? Peter will be regrouping with me here before our next round of patrols."

Stiles shot Jackson a look. "You got anywhere you need to be right now?"

"The Preserve, apparently." He pulled out his phone. "I'll let Lydia know."

"We'll be there in 15," Stiles said. Derek hung up. He scowled down at his phone. Not even so much as a 'bye.' "Rude."

"What are we waiting for?" Jackson was grinning, but Stiles could see the nerves buried beneath the façade.

Stiles decided to keep that observation to himself. It wouldn't serve either of them. "Let's go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, next chapter may take a bit longer, not because of anything in the fic (I am having so much fun here and you guys are a joy to write for), but because I have some unfinished business in another fandom to resolve. (Yes, it's Supernatural, so if any of you guys also happen to ship Destiel, keep an eye out. I should have something up within the next week at the rate I'm going.)
> 
> Also, I got sick of rereading this as I was fixing stuff, so if you guys catch any typos, do let me know, and I'll get them fixed. Thanks.


	7. New Friends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for waiting, guys! My gf dragged me into a new ship that had me a bit distracted, but I've regained control of my life. (So I can balance which fic I work on instead of starting six WIPs at once and neglecting everything else lol) Hope you guys enjoy it!

Jackson's hand shot out and closed around Stiles' wrist.

"I know you said... But you trust this guy, right?" Jackson's voice was only barely audible. He could probably hear Derek and Peter by now, assuming they'd already arrived.

Stiles remembered what he told Peter. He didn't, really. Trust him. Even now, handing Jackson over, he couldn't be sure. But unless a better option came along right now immediately, Peter was their best bet. And he trusted that.

"Yeah, I do." Stiles said. Peter was the only person in town Stiles knew consistently wanted to keep him, and their Pack, alive. He trusted that, too.

Whatever Jackson heard, he settled, squaring his shoulders. "Okay. Then I'm ready."

Jackson shouldered his way out of Roscoe, none of his fear showing. Stiles felt inexplicably proud.

Shaking his head, Stiles slid out as well, following Jackson. His pack bonds sang out as they had yesterday, and Stiles turned to follow them, unsurprised to catch Peter melting out of the shadows.

"Drama queen," Stiles accused, but his voice was entirely too fond. He winced, blushing.

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment," Peter said. He stepped in close, one hand cupping the side of his neck. Stiles sighed, head tilting obediently. Not as intense as before, but still overwhelming. The sweep of his thumb along his throat sent a shiver through him.

"You know, I think it just occured to me that you two have never actually been introduced." Stiles couldn't believe it had slipped his mind. Aside from the forest anf the school, Jackson and Peter had never actually met. No wonder he was so nervous with only those impressions to work with. "Jackson, this is my Alpha, Peter Hale. Peter, your prospective beta, Jackson Whittemore."

"Nice to finally meet you," Peter said, not yet releasing Stiles. "My other beta is to your right," he continued. "Derek, Jackson. Play nice."

Jackson swallowed, throat bobbing. "Pleasure to meet you both."

Stiles didn't need to be a werewolf to know that was a lie.

His magic itched under his skin. He squirmed in place, uncomfortable. There was something he needed to do. No, something he needed to say. His brow furrowed.

"Alpha," he tried. Should he ask about it? But no, he couldn't ask, yesterday maybe, but not today, not now.

Peter's gaze snapped to his, ice blue bleeding red.

Stiles swallowed. They were still standing so close. "I offer you a new beta for our Pack. He has exceeded my expectations, and I find him worthy. Do you accept him?" The words fell from his lips of their own volition, drawn forth without his consciously deciding. His skin buzzed woth electricity.

"Stiles," Derek started to say, but Peter's free hand snapped out, and Derek's mouth snapped shut.

"I accept. I would offer him my bite to break his former bonds and forge them anew." Peter turned, red eyes catching Jackson's. His hand was still firm on Stiles' throat, holding him steady. "Jackson, do you accept your place in the Hale Pack and thereby reject your sire?"

When Stiles forced his eyes away from Peter, Jackson's were wide, but not with fear. He seemed overwhelmed, but for the first time since he'd been bitten, completely unafraid.

Derek stepped closer, his words heavy. "By agreeing, you will be taking Peter as your Alpha. You will reject the Alpha who turned you. This will be done through a bite. Once done, it cannot be undone."

"I accept my place and reject my sire," Jackson said. His eyes blazed gold.

Peter squeezed Stiles' neck once more before releasing him, closing the distance between him and Jackson. Peter dropped to his knees and lifted Jackson's shirt to expose his abdomen.

"Welcome to the Hale Pack, Jackson." Peter bit down.

A howl tore across the Preserve, and Stiles ears rang with it. He shuddered down to his toes, fists clenching and teeth gritting against the noise.

Wrong, wrong, it was all wrong. Something wasn't right, it wasn'tー

A new bond snapped into place, twined around and through Lydia's. It felt like it belonged there, like it had always been there.

"Holy fuck," Jackson gasped. " _Ow._ "

Peter stood gracefully, wiping the blood from his mouth with...

"Is that a _handkerchief_?" Stiles asked.

Peter threw him an unimpressed look. "It is." _What of it?_ his eyes seemed to say.

But more importantly, Jackson was freaking out, he realized. Could werewolves get panic attacks? The new bonds, they weren't a pleasant first experience, even if they were probably an improvement. Stiles darted forward and gripped Jackson's shoulders.

"Deep breaths, remember? Your anchor hasn't changed, so use it." Stiles stared into his face until panicked gold faded back into anxious blue. "There you go. See? Everything's fine. No more crazy Alpha, just a formerly crazy one."

"It is actually... better," Jackson muttered. "A lot better. It hurt at first, but it's nothing I can't handle." He crossed his arms, eyes darting between his three new pack mates. "You guys need therapy."

Derek snorted.

Stiles could feel that the physical contact was helping, so he didn't let go, just shifted so he had one arm wrapped around his shoulders. Peter was staring at him like he'd just won something, slow dawning pleasure on his face, eyes still red.

"You guys gonna get in on this?" Stiles waggled his eyebrows. "Pack snuggles?"

Jackson made a move to pull away, making a noise of complaint, but Stiles only tightened his grip. And then Peter was pressing in, wrapping an arm around his back.

Jackson let out an embarrassing whine, baring his throat. Peter slid his hand over his neck, a pleased hum just audible. His hand just brushed the edge of Stiles' arm as well.

"Good instincts," Peter praised. "I can see why you accepted him so quickly, Stiles. He's a good choice."

Jackson's flush matched the color quickly flooding Stiles' face. "Yeah, well, you know."

"Why is this so intense," Jackson complained.

Derek touched his head. "New bonds need to settle. It'll ease up after a little while. Just stick close to Stiles in the next several days, and you'll be fine."

"Can he... The other Alpha, can he force me back?" Jackson asked.

"No," Peter said. "You can't force the bond outside of first turning someone. If he wants you back, he'll have to kill me. And without a pack of his own, he's nowhere near strong enough. And I've already been forbidden from dying."

"Damn right," Stiles muttered. "No one's killing our Alpha."

Not on his watch. Not ever.

Jackson's phone buzzed loudly in his pocket.

"Lydia," he explained. "She must have somehow..."

"You have a bond with her," Peter said. His eyes glittered. "And a strong one at that."

Stiles could feel the strength of it for himself, now, could feel the way their individual connections to him were almost braided together. "What does it mean if bonds are, uh, twisted up together?"

Derek stared down at him. "Twisted up like the tangle?"

Stiles shook his head. "No, these are outside of that. Lydia's and Jackson's are... twined?"

"Do you feel them as threads?" Peter asked. His expression was a step shy of eager, and the tangle echoed that from somewhere.

Embarrased, Stiles snapped, "Do you still feel them as stars?"

Peter's smile didn't fade, but seemed to sharpen.

Jackson frowned. "Threads? Stars? Is that normal?"

"It's neither normal, nor abnormal." Derek shrugged. "I don't visualize or experience them any particular way, and I've heard of countless other ways for bonds to be felt." He frowned. "But a combined bond, Peter, isn't that...?"

"It might be. Time will tell."

"Cryptic," Stiles muttered.

"Petulant," Peter returned.

Jackson rolled his eyes, shrugging out of their hold. "I don't need you to tell me how close Lydia and I are. We belong together. Even when she hates me, and even when I hate her, we're meant to be."

Stiles blinked. "Jackson, that was... That was really romantic. What the hell?"

He smirked. "You didn't think I won Lydia over with my athleticism and my looks alone, did you?"

"I figured your ruthlessness played a part somewhere," Stiles allowed. "Romantic, I was not expecting. Speaking of, don't you have a date to get to, Benedick?"

"Not Romeo?" Peter asked around a quiet laugh.

"That's Scott," Jackson and Stiles said together. Their eyes met, and they both winced.

"Yes," Jackson answered, "I do have a date. See you later, nerd. And thanks again, Peter. I... That other Alpha, he needs to be stopped. There's no humanity left in him." He shook himself, anxiety thrumming along their connection.

Peter and Derek nodded. "Be careful getting home," Peter said. "And try not to go anywhere alone if you can help it."

Jackson gave a short wave, heading back toward his car at a jog.

"Where's his car?" Derek asked.

"By the picnic area. It's too pretty for the woods or whatever."

Peter's thumb stroked over his shoulder, just brushing his skin with every swipe. He shivered. He'd kind of forgotten that they were still huddled together around where Jackson was once standing.

"You should head home, too," Peter said, voice low. His thumb kept stroking. "That Alpha's still out there somewhere, and he's not happy. Jackson can't be forced back, but you're human."

Stiles sighed. "I feel like every time this happens, I leave with more questions than were answered." He hesitated, thoughts trailing back to the ceremony. To right _after_ the ceremony. "Did you guys... feel anything weird when Jackson joined us? Not Jackson joining, but something else?"

Derek and Peter shared a glance, but both shook their heads. "No. Are you talking about the other Alpha's howl?" Derek asked.

Stiles shook his head. "No. I don't know what it was. Probably nothing, if you guys didn't notice anything."

"Don't be so sure," Peter said. "You have magic, Stiles. I'm sure there are things you can sense that Derek and I would never notice."

"Oh." Stiles blinked. Peter's hand squeezed his neck. "I hadn't thought about that. You think so?"

"I know so. There are all kinds of magic werewolves aren't sensitive to. It's why packs with mages tend to fare better." Peter released his neck with a final squeeze.

Stiles narrowly stopped himself from whining in complaint. "Guess I need to do some research. You're patrolling?"

"Searching," Derek allowed. "We still don't know where the Alpha's been hiding. He's using something to cover his tracks." Derek's voice was tight with his frustration.

"We'll find him. Not like the Argents have had better luck, for all their numbers." Peter crossed his arms. "I do wonder about that, actually. I've never heard of them taking this long before."

"Maybe they're too busy tormenting Scott," Stiles muttered.

Derek snorted, but Peter looked thoughtful.

"Maybe." Peter rubbed a hand over his head. "But for now, go home, Stiles. We'll call you if anything comes up. Promise."

"You better, Alpha." Stiles pointed at them both. "Anything happens to either of you, and I _will_ be pissed."

Derek rolled his eyes. "We'll be _fine._ Worry about your magic."

Stiles huffed, but it was fair enough. "Stay safe." He waved and turned, walking back to Roscoe. By the time the engine started, they were both already gone.

* * *

Stiles flopped down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling. Alone on a Friday night.

Something about that was wrong.

Didn't he have...

Stiles' heart sank. He pulled out his phone. No missed calls. No new text messages. He let out a slow breath. It didn't mean anything. He'd just call and check in.

He dialed his dad and got up to pace.

"Hello?"

"Heyo, Daddio. What did you want for dinner? We're watching Star Wars tonight, right?" Stiles kept his tone light and easy.

He paced around the kitchen table before looping back out to the family room.

"Damn it," his dad muttered. "Shit, Stiles, I'm so sorry."

"Something came up," Stiles provided, unable to maintain his casual tone. He closed his eyes when they began to sting.

"Stiles, this case... It's a lot bigger than I expected, and it keeps getting more complicated." His dad sighed. "I would much rather be home watching Star Wars with you."

"You can't just... come home?" But Stiles knew the answer. "No, sorry, it's okay. Your work is important," Stiles reminded himself.

"I'm so sorry, kid. I promise, I'll make it up to you."

"I know, Dad." Stiles gripped the phone tighter. "I love you."

His dad was muffled for a moment, before he said, "Love you, too, kiddo. I'll be staying at the station tonight, so do your homework, and get to bed at a reasonable hour."

"Yeah, Dad." Stiles bit his lip hard. "Be safe."

"You got it."

Stiles looked down at his phone. His dad hung up. He walked up to the nearest wall and dropped his head against it.

He took in a shuddering breath, threw his phone on the couch, and stormed upstairs. He slammed his bedroom door behind him.

"All right," Stiles said aloud, summoning his grimoire. "We have a lot of work to do."

He dropped it on his desk, a smile tugging at his lips as it flipped open in front of him.

_Lesson three: You have an affinity for plant-based magicks. To begin learning them, you'll first need to learn to communicate with the plants around you._

Stiles faltered. "Plants? How the hell am I supposed to talk to a tree?"

_You should approach a new plant as you would a new human. Introduce yourself, and be polite. Flattery will get you everywhere. Your magic will "translate" for you. It will be easier for you to test it yourself to see how it feels and how it sounds._

_Much like people, each plant has a different personality. Each kind of plant has a different "vocation." The vocations (or uses) of each known plant can be found within the grimoire._

Stiles snorted. "The plants have jobs, sure."

The book's pages rustled, almost in warning. Was he being scolded?

_Many plants are very sensitive. Most people can't communicate with them in any meaningful sense, so they take the things they hear to heart. Be kind. A plant is quick to hurt and slow to forget._

"I'll be nice," he muttered. "They have jobs, not uses. So, as long as I treat them like friends, it'll be okay?"

The rustle this time seemed approving. He smiled. He could work with that.

_All plants, from "weeds" to herbs to bushes to trees are capable of communicating, and often appreciate the acknowledgement. It can be very beneficial to keep a personal garden, both for a stable source of your most common supplies and to develop a relationship with the plants nearest to you._

_Most plants have very little understanding of the human goings on near them, but don't underestimate them. Forests are wellsprings of information on weather patterns and supernatural comings and goings. Flowerbeds usually have at least one gossip that collects whatever human drama has been occu_ _ring nearby. (The older the gardner, the more likely this is.)_

_Now, enough stalling. Go find a plant; you're wasting daylight._

Stiles glanced outside. The sun was still up, but he probably only had a few hours.

Shrugging, Stiles scooped up the grimoire and headed outside. He considered the backyard: Trees at the far edge, a few bushes along the side of the house...

Stiles narrowed his eyes. Densely packed leaves, lightish blue flowers... "Rosemary?" he guessed aloud.

The bush seemed to shiver, as if a breeze passed through it, but the air was still. Stiles stepped closer.

_Mischief?_

"What?" Stiles sat down heavily on the step, grimoire on his lap, and faced the bush. "Me?"

_It is! My little Mischief. It's been some time since we spoke. Have you remembered your magic?_

Stiles stared. "In the process of remembering," he hedged.

Hah. Hedged.

_Excellent. I've missed our talks. You're not still insisting you're in love with that banshee of yours, are you?_

"My what? How did you know about Lydia?"

_Claudia told me, of course. We had a good laugh about it. Or, I laughed anyway. Your mother wasn't sure yet where your feelings for her would land. I did tell her, but she didn't take my word for it. Of course, she was preoccupied at the time, poor thing._

Stiles stared. "So you... you spoke with Mom."

_Certainly, dear. She planted me. And the rest of the garden, though they've since wilted. Not your fault, since you were just a sprout yourself, and your father has always had a black thumb, bless him._

"Yeah," Stiles laughed, "I'm on perpetual houseplant duty."

The bush rustled. _Oh, yes, that reminds me. The pothos in the kitchen needs to be watered. He's gotten rather dry. All the wolves have been distracting you, I bet. Although that Alpha is quite the looker. Very handsome._

Stiles opened his mouth. He closed his mouth. "Peter?"

_Yes. The other one could do as well, of course, but I really think the Alpha is best after all._

Stiles decided not to ask what she thought he would be best for.

_Will you be replanting your mother's garden, Mischief? If you're running with wolves, you'll need to be appropriately armed. I'll be able to help for now, but the more the merrier, I think._

"I will be, yeah. Can I ask for your advice about that later? I'll have time to get everything ready in about a week." Stiles tapped his fingers on the grimoire in a jaunty rhythm.

 _Oh, yes. I do have some ideas. It's been rather lonely, just us Rosemary and the grass. I_ have _missed the others. Trees aren't the best company, you know. Especially recently. A very dour lot. You'd best fix that soon, Mischief. The trees have been struggling for quite some time now, the poor dears._

Stiles turned toward the trees. He could feel their attention, keen and anxious. He frowned. There was definitely something wrong. Deep within the Preserve. The heart?

"Something's wrong..."

_Yes, but you best not go out there this late, not without one of your wolves. It's not safe._

Stiles shook his head. "No, you're right. There's a curfew, anyway."

 _Yes, and by my count it's about time you had dinner and watered that pothos._ The bush rustled.

Stiles couldn't help his smile. She was like a fussy grandmother. It was nice. "Yes, ma'am. Food for Stiles, water for Pothos."

_Good. And don't be such a stranger. I've missed our talks, Mischief._

Stiles brushed a hand over the top of the bush. He could feel the warmth of her regard for him. "Have a good night, Rosemary. Let me know if you need anything."

She rustled under his hands before settling back down. Stiles stood, grimoire under one arm, and went back inside.

He could talk to plants. That was... weirdly awesome, actually.

He'd introduce himself to all the houseplants after he made dinner, Stiles decided. There were only a handful, luckily, although that was likely going to change now.

Then he could get some of his homework done early. Midterms were next week, so the more he could get ahead on, the better. And then maybe he could start looking into what different herbs and plants were used for. Plan his new garden if he had time.

Stiles whistled to himself as he set the grimoire down on the kitchen table. Once he had his food cooking, he turned his attention to the Pothos on the window sill above the sink. The soil was getting a bit dry.

How had he done this before?

"Um, Pothos?" Stiles tried.

The plant rustled. _Mischief? Rosemary's Mischief?_

"Yes," Stiles said, "that's me."

_It's about time! My soil is too dry! And would it kill you to open the window in here? I'm not allowed to be outside, but at least let me feel like I'm outside! And move me further from the burner. The other one splashes me with oil in the mornings, and it hurts._

Stiles, speechless, filled his usual plastic cup with water. "Uh, tell me when?" And he began to pour.

When he reached the usual amount he poured in, the plant snapped, _That's plenty, unless you want to drown me._

"Right. Don't want that." Stiles considered the window's distance from the stove. He slid the pot carefully to the left until it was nestled in the opposite corner. "How's this? Will you get enough sun here?"

_Oh, now you care?_

"Excuse you," Stiles snapped, opening the window a crack for it, "I always cared, but I couldn't exactly ask you before, now could I? And have I ever splashed you with oil?"

The leaves ruffled. _No._

It almost sounded petulant. Absolutely absurd.

"Right. Okay, then." Stiles let out a breath. "I'm sorry I forgot to water you the last few days. And I'm sorry I never open the window. I'll do better from now on."

_Thank you. I guess. If you keep your promise, I can maybe help out with some stuff. I'm not like Rosemary or anything, but the other one only splashes the oil like that when he's been poisoning his blood with that stuff he drinks, the yellow stuff from the bottle. I can smell it on him. It's gotten worse again lately._

Stiles stared. Blood poisoning, yellow liquid... his whiskey. And bad enough to be smelled. "You keep track of Dad's drinking?"

_Sure. It's on his breath. Not difficult to notice, and not like I've got better to do._

Stiles stared some more. "If you tell me when he's been drinking and how much, I'll fulfill every request you have of me for as long as we both live."

_You got a deal, Mischief. The others'll help, too, you know. They like you. Especially the other one's Claudia brought in. We all know, even the new plants, if it were just the other one, none of us would've lasted this long without her. The other one is terrible with plants. He was even before she died._

"Yeah," Stiles said quietly, belatedly stirring his pasta to keep it from burning to the bottom. "I keep hearing that." He sighed into the pot. "Do any of you have names?"

_Names? I'm a Pothos, sprout._

"No, like, like how I'm Mischief, but also a human."

_Oh, you mean the special names. Nah, not since Claudia died. And I don't want you naming me yet, not 'til I know you're serious. Got it?_

Stiles held up his hands in surrender. "Got it. I'll play that by ear then. Pothos is fine for now?"

_Yeah. It's fine. Now leave me alone. I wanna enjoy the last bit of this sunshine and fresh air in peace._

Stiles did as he was bid, turning fully away. He could feel the connection and awareness fade this time.

He had so many questions, he hardly knew where to start. Plus he had to figure out what he should do about his dad's drinking... He shook it off. First he had to finish dinner without burning it. Then he could worry about everything else.

One thing at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to hear everyone's thoughts on this new chapter! I'm stepping into some uncharted territory, so I'd really appreciate hearing what you guys are enjoying, and what's working! (I'll puzzle out what isn't on my own, promise.) Once I get a handle on what's working, I can keep it in mind for coming chapters. ;P
> 
> Thanks again for reading, and thanks for being patient with me! Happy holidays and happy new year!


	8. Comparing Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a dummy, guys. Totally misremembered which dance is going on during season 1 (oops). Anyway, just assume my season 1 is now set in their second semester, not the first. I would much rather be approaching spring for plant reasons anyway lol
> 
> Thanks for being so patient with me guys! I got a little stuck on the front end of this chapter and could not for the life of me figure out what was missing, but we are all good now! I should be able to tackle the next chapter right away. (That being said, god knows when I eventually post it lmao Shit happens)

Stiles looped back into the kitchen with dirty dishes from the living room, critical eye looking for anything he'd missed. The dishwasher, still open from when he'd started loading it when he woke up, was about ready to run.

Laundry was in the wash. The living room was dusted. The plants were all watered and shifted into positions and locations they preferred. The kitchen window was open to let in fresh air for the Pothos.

Stiles could admit the Pothos was right. Fresh air really made a difference. He cycled through humming three or four different songs as he loaded the dishwasher.

Did he have any dishes in his room?

No, no, he'd gotten the cup beside his bed. The water bottle graveyard needed to be emptied soon, but that wasn't as pressing. No one else knew about them so he could get away with it a little longer.

His phone buzzed jarringly across the counter.

Stiles winced at the noise, but answered without looking. It was probably Lydia.

"Hello?" he said, surveying the kitchen.

"Hey!" Scott answered. "How's it going, dude?"

Stiles' eyes narrowed. Scott never called him. "What's wrong?" he asked. He put detergent in the dishwasher and started the cycle. Chores done, he leaned against the counter.

"Why does something have to be wrong for me to call my best friend?" Scott asked.

"Uh huh. You really want me to answer that?"

Scott was silent for a moment. "Well," he tried. "Okay, no, I don't. Look, I need your help."

Stiles fought the urge to roll his eyes. Was that all he was good for anymore? Werewolf help? Playing messenger for Romeo and Juliet?

Stiles faltered with a realization. "Am I Mercutio or Benvolio?" he asked.

"What? Dude, does it matter?"

"Yes! One of them dies, Scott!" Stiles frowned. He was the Sheriff's son. He was definitely Mercutio. _Shit._

"Can we focus? My boss _knows_ , Stiles. Like, he really knows."

Stiles blinked. "Deaton?" He thought back. He'd briefly been suspect number one as far as the Alpha went before they figured out it was Peter. It made sense he knew, but then why hadn't he said anything? "Why'd he lie to Derek, then?"

"What are you talking about?"

"When we thought he might be the Alpha before, why didn't he just explain to Derek that he knew about werewolves but wasn't one?" Stiles asked.

"I don't... actually know. But Allison's grandpa was in there earlier, and he was asking about some weird... I don't know, magic thingy? It sounded like magic. To find this omega that's been evading them." Scott's voice rose with his tension and worry.

"Okay, what kind of magic thingy? Like something to track him? A locator? Something else?" Stiles summoned his book, running a finger over the cover as he thought.

"How should I know? Aren't you more concerned about this 'omega'?" Scott demanded. "It sounds dangerous!"

Stiles felt his brows draw together. "It is dangerous. That's why there's a curfew?" He huffed. "Look, Derek told me about the omega a couple days ago. I did text you about it?"

"What? No, you didn't!"

Stiles waited for Scott to check his phone. He heard a distant 'oh.'

"Yes, Scott, I did. Now seriously, the magic. I need answers."

"He used a map and a rope or something," Scott muttered. He was sulking, great. "I was a little more focused on not getting caught."

Stiles flipped open his book to a page titled, _Scrying_.

"Thanks, should be able to research it with that." Stiles checked the time, 11:25 a.m. "I'm gonna have to hang up soon, dude. What did you need my help with?"

"What? The omega? Obviously? Allison's family are going to kill him!" Scott's voice rose.

Stiles grimaced. Right. And here Stiles was hoping Peter managed to kill him soon. "What do you want me to do exactly? Squishy human, remember? I can't exactly fight it with you, and if the hunters are having trouble, I'm not likely to fare any better."

"I guess, but usually you have some kind of plan!"

"Well, yeah, I guess. Look, Lydia's gonna be here any minute, so can we talk about this more tonight?"

Scott was silent for a long beat. "Tonight?"

Stiles forced himself to take a deep breath. "Yes. We're hanging out tonight, remember? COD? Pizza? Catching up?"

"Um."

Stiles pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off his frustration. "Scott, if you tell me you're going on a date with Allison tonight, I will hang up on you."

"Well, it's not really a _date_ ," Scott began.

Stiles ended the call. He slapped his phone down on the counter. When it buzzed again, he checked the caller ID and ignored Scott's call. Ditching him for a date _again!_

No, Stiles didn't feel like dealing with that just yet. He'd rather read about scrying before Lydia turned up.

"I'm surprised this isn't level locked," he muttered aloud as he took the book to the table. "Is it because I knew specifically what I was looking for?"

The pages rustled and turned once on their own.

_Lesson Four. There are two ways to use magic. The first is by combining ingredients that have magical effects. Anyone can learn to do this, no matter how little magic they have. It has been likened to chemistry: a combination of disparate ingredients (mostly but not only herbs for our purposes) plus a catalyst (that little bit of magic) causes a reaction (the spell). These methods can also be used by people without any magic at all as long as someone with magic puts the spell together. (More on that later.)_

_The second is by imbuing objects with magic and intention in order to further a purpose. This requires more magic than the former method and cannot be done by any without enough magic._

_Some witches have specialties, these are areas of spellcraft that their magic is especially suited for. They will require less magic to do spells in that area than another witch with a different specialty would need. It is very important to find your specialty. It is unlikely to be the first thing you try, but until you find it, you should practice widely until something clicks._

Stiles flipped back a page and was glad to see 'Scrying' where he left it.

"So I can actually experiment now?" Stiles could feel excitement bubbling up, almost enough to drown out the lingering hurt from his conversation with Scott.

The pages gave an approving ruffle. Stiles beamed.

The doorbell rang.

Stiles groaned. "Okay, to be continued I guess." He pushed himself out of his seat and jogged over to the front door.

"Hey, Lydia, right on time," he said as he opened the door.

Lydia was dressed in cute, but casual clothes, her hair pulled back in a loose braid. Jackson stood behind her shoulder and looked uncomfortable.

"Uh, hey, Jackson. Wasn't expecting you. How're you doing?"

Lydia swept inside past him, waving a hand dismissively. "Don't ask him, he'll only lie. He's doing terribly. And when I told him I was coming here, he got in the car with me instead of going home." She paused, just inside the entryway. "Shoes?"

"You can take them off." Stiles snorted. "Couldn't do without your daily dose of Pack cuddles, huh?"

Jackson groaned, but followed Lydia inside. Jackson stepped out of his Vans, leaving them beside Lydia's sandals. "Don't call it that." Stiles shut the door, and Jackson pulled Stiles into a hug.

Stiles blinked dumbly. His pack bond hummed with the contact, warm and steady. Stiles let an arm wrap around Jackson. Jackson shuddered and pressed his forehead into Stiles' shoulder, fingers curling against his back.

"Thank God," Lydia sighed. "Now, then, I brought lunch, as promised. And he's allowed to stay for my part. I wasn't sure if you wanted him around for yours."

Stiles patted Jackson's back, trying to play it cool when he wanted to sink into the hug himself. "He can stick around. Derek and Peter already know, so it wouldn't really be fair to keep it from him at this point."

Lydia met his eyes. Hers glittered like shattered glass, sharp and dangerous. She felt more powerful than before, more settled.

"When you boys are done, we can get started. Kitchen through here?" she asked, not waiting for confirmation.

Stiles thought about following her, and Jackson's arms tightened around him.

"How can you stand being away from them?" he asked, voice low and rough, like it cost him something to ask at all.

Stiles shrugged, playing it casual. "The bonds have settled for me now. I still get like this with Peter sometimes, but Derek let me drape myself over him for, like, a full day after I joined the Pack." Derek had been so pissy about it, but the warmth of the bond belied his complaints. "After that, I felt pretty much fine, as long as I saw him every few days."

"You guys barely touched at all yesterday."

"Duh? We were focused on you." He rolled his eyes. "And it's not like we didn't also get some contact in, you know? It just wasn't much."

"But Peter..."

"My bond with him isn't fully settled." Stiles hesitated. "Maybe. It might just be that he's the Alpha. I don't know. But Jackson, we really shouldn't keep Lydia waiting."

Jackson held on tighter, took a deep breath, and then released him. "Yeah, okay. You're right." He rubbed a hand over his forehead. "And you need to eat. You're making _me_ hungry."

Stiles' stomach chose that moment to growl. "Oh, yeah. I was going to eat breakfast," he said, walking to the kitchen, "but I ended up cleaning the house, and then Scott called. Guess I haven't eaten yet today."

"What did Scott want?" Lydia asked. Her brown furrowed. "He has a date with Allison tonight, doesn't he?"

Stiles heaved a sigh. "He made plans with me yesterday, but I guess he forgot about that." He scratched the back of his head and took a seat.

Lydia and Jacskon exchanged a look he couldn't parse, but didn't ask for further information.

Lydia had spread out the food she'd brought, and pulled out a notebook as well. That was smart. He should do that too. Maybe after he ate though.

It had been quiet too long. "Burger and fries? You're spoiling me." Stiles grinned.

"They have salads there, so it made the most sense to feed all of us," Lydia said with a delicate shrug.

Jackson was hesitating in the doorway. He kept looking between Stiles and Lydia like he couldn't figure something out.

"Sit down, Jackson," Lydia said firmly. "Beside Stiles, and then you can tap your feet to mine." She leveled him with a bored look. "That's why you're hesitating, right?"

Jackson's cheeks flushed, but he sat down as she'd ordered instead of arguing. Stiles patted his shoulder in sympathy.

"So, where do we start?" Stiles shoved three fries into his mouth. "Oh, do you guys want drinks?"

"Water, please." Lydia shook her salad container to mix the dressing in.

"Same," Jackson muttered.

Stiles hopped up, slipping around the table and into the kitchen to pour three glasses of water.

"Do you want to start, or should I?" Lydia asked, accepting her water with a shallow nod.

Jackson hummed his acknowledgement.

Stiles eyed his food. "You should start. I'm gonna inhale this, so it'll be tough for me to talk."

"Never thought I'd see the day," Jackson muttered. "Stilinski, unable to speak. It's a dream come true."

Stiles stole one of his fries in retaliation.

Jackson half stood, but Lydia coughed primly. "If you children are done?" She eyed them both, unimpressed.

Stiles swallowed the stolen fry. "Yes, ma'am."

Jackson sat back down and crossed his arms. "Fine."

"Good. You can play later." Lydia flipped through her notebook. "I am a banshee. It's passed down through bloodlines matrilineally, so it's difficult to track backwards, but the result is the same."

Jackson felt confused. "You don't seem any different. Didn't you say something about the bite waking you up?"

Stiles turned to face him. "You can't feel it?"

Jackson's eyebrows rose. "Feel what?"

Stiles leaned his chin on his hand and ate another fry. "Magic can detect magic, but shifters can't? Or maybe his sensitivity isn't high enough? Scott hasn't noticed either of us, but I'm not sure about Peter..."

Lydia hummed, writing something down. "Interesting. What do you feel?"

"I could tell when you got here that you were stronger than before. Did you do something yesterday after school?" Stiles tapped one leg, jittery. "Or is it that I'm better able to sense it now?"

"Could be both," Lydia said. "I managed some ghostwriting yesterday. Nothing crazy, just contacted an ancestor. Although... I did also have a strange dream last night. I... I didn't scream or anything, but..." She shook her head. "My ancestor was pleased with my decision to embrace my gift and gave me some advice."

"How did that work? Did you need any special implements? Candles, chanting, incense?" Stiles frowned when his hand hit the back of the fry sleeve. Damn. He unwrapped his burger.

"I used a candle to focus, and then I just... used a notepad and a pen." She laughed. "It was a little anticlimactic, actually."

"Wait, is that what you did after dinner?" Jackson frowned. "It's not dangerous, is it?"

Lydia shook her head. "If Stiles did it, maybe, but I'm a banshee. This is what we do, apparently." She frowned. "I'm not allowed to talk about much, to be honest, family secrets and all, but... The dream I had. It was... very strange. I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

"What was strange about it?" Stiles took a drink of water.

"Well, nothing, actually. That was what was strange. In the dream, I'm walking through the Preserve. And that's it." Lydia's brow furrowed. "But that's not it, at the same time. There's something unsettling about it. I just don't know what it is."

Jackson huffed. "You just had a boring dream, Lyds."

"Or a prophetic one," Stiles countered. "There is something wrong in the Preserve. The trees are anxious about it."

Jackson laughed. "The _trees_ are?"

Stiles nodded and swallowed his last bite. "Yep." He summoned his grimoire from wherever it had vanished to, licking the grease off his fingers and wiping the rest on his jeans. "I can feel it." He tapped his sternum. "It's extremely unpleasant."

Lydia's eyes lit up. "You can summon it? Where was it before?"

"My room, I think. It depends. I left it on the table, but it hides when I'm not around."

Jackson was a foot away, eyes wide. "What the fuck?"

"I'm a wizard, Jackson," Stiles said in his best Hagrid impression, wiggling his fingers. "Or, more accurately, I'm a hedge witch. I can talk to plants as of last night, and I can summon mage lights as of a couple nights ago."

Stiles pulled two lights, solidified them, and tossed them to Lydia and Jackson each.

Jackson looked startled and then amazed as he rolled the ball around in his hands. Stiles could feel the wonder in his pack bond.

"This is freaky," Jackson mumbled. "It feels like you?"

"Fascinating," Lydia breathed. The light reflected in her eyes, giving them an uncanny glow. "These aren't normally solid, are they?"

"No," Stiles agreed. "I just thought it would be cool."

"What else can you do?" Jackson asked.

"Not much yet. I just unlocked the next stage of my development. I can now look at beginner stuff for different kinds of magic, although mostly my book wants me gardening." Stiles flipped to the page on gardening and showed them both.

" _The beginner's guide to magical gardening_ ," Lydia read aloud. "The titling is very on the nose, isn't it?"

Stiles shrugged. "I guess so." He hesitated. Withholding information hadn't helped at all in the last few months. "Dr. Deaton, the vet nearby, is someone in the know."

Jackson laughed. "You're joking. He's a _vet_."

Lydia tipped her head to one side. "You're not joking. How'd you find this out? You don't have any pets, do you?"

"Nah, but Scott's been working there part time." Stiles frowned. "The Argents know about him, but when Derek accused him of being the Alpha before, he stayed quiet. I don't understand that yet, but I don't trust him. If he's known this whole time, why hasn't he said anything before now?"

Lydia tapped her perfectly manicured nails against the table with a light, rhythmic click. "That seems... suspicious. All in favor of keeping our information away from Deaton?"

Stiles and Jackson chorused, "Aye," in unison.

"The Ayes have it." Lydia pursed her lips. "Is he magical or else not human? Both?" She turned her shrewd gaze back on Stiles. "Keep an eye on him through Scott?"

"Way ahead of you. He can apparently do something called 'scrying.'" Stiles flipped the book to the page in question. "I was about to read about it when you got here."

Lydia giggled a little. "Oh, I know what scrying is." She pressed her hand to her mouth. "My mom and I used to watch _Charmed_ together when it was on. You use a pendulum of some kind, usually over a map or something, and the pendulum gets drawn to their location. Sometimes they'd use a mirror, too, but the map always seemed more practical."

Stiles skimmed the page. There was more info about imbuing a pendulum or a mirror with power, the kind of centering you need to do, the best kinds of maps or mirrors to use, what to use if neither is available, but the information lined up.

"That's pretty much right. Wow. That's helpful." Stiles considered the information. "Should we try it?"

Lydia sat forward in her seat, eyes glinting. Jackson's flashed gold in answer.

"My mom had an old hand mirror once," Stiles said, "but I don't know what happened to it. And I don't know where my dad is keeping his maps. Aside from his cruiser, I mean."

Lydia tapped one nail on the grimoire. "Do you have a bowl?"

Stiles laughed, but obliged, ducking around the kitchen table and checking the cabinets in their island for an old mixing bowl.

He started filling it with water. His phone was buzzing across the counter again, but after checking his texts from Scott, he resolved to continue ignoring him. He wasn't in any apparent danger, so it was fine.

He set the bowl down on the kitchen table, and turned back to the grimoire.

Lydia pulled it away and began reading aloud. "Focus on drawing your spark outward. Think about what you are seeking. Settle on your question, and then press the power into the object you intend to use. Keep your search in mind, or your spell will fail."

Stiles pulled his spark back into himself and then sent it into his hands. He placed them on either side of the bowl, eyes on the water. "I want to find the other alpha."

He kept that thought in his mind, and pressed his fingertips to the cool glass.

At first, the water remained clear. There was nothing lurking there, nothing hiding just under the surface. Stiles tried to keep his question in mind, but he could feel that strange pull at the back of his mind again.

 _What are you?_ he thought.

A tree appeared in the bowl, large but dying, brown leaves falling even in spring. It felt old and powerful, and it was hurting. Something needed to be done, or--

Stiles fell backward, connection broken. He blinked his eyes back into focus. "Ow," he muttered, holding his head.

"Well?" Jackson demanded.

"You couldn't see it?" Lydia asked. "The tree?"

"What tree?"

"It's dying, and it's been calling out to me--calling... Oh," Stiles realized. "I was warned about this. I have to go. I have to save it."

Stiles tried to stand, but his legs were shaking. Jackson pressed him back into his chair with a firm hand on his shoulder. "Not today, you're not. You used a lot of energy just now, idiot."

Lydia was frowning. "Jackson is right. I can feel it. You're weaker than you were before."

Stiles grimaced. "Guess I depleted my MP in one go, huh? Damn it."

"Nerd," Jackson muttered. "So did you find anything about that alpha?"

"No, nothing. The tree called to me and broke my focus." Stiles rubbed at the center of his forehead where a headache was forming. "I'll have to try again tomorrow."

"Or," Lydia cut in slowly. "Or tomorrow we visit that tree? The alpha isn't something we can deal with, but the tree..."

Stiles swallowed thickly. He wanted to save the tree. No, he _needed_ to. "What if the alpha bites someone else?"

"We can't control him, and there's no guarantee knowing where he is would solve it. After all, didn't the hunters try looking for him this way?"

Stiles looked down at his book. "There might be interference," he realized. "The forest is anxious, that tree is dying, it might be making it harder to track things."

"So, save the tree, find the alpha?" Jackson asked. "Sounds easy enough. I have time tomorrow morning. Danny and I are finishing a project in the evening, though, so I can't stay out all day."

Stiles nodded. "Morning would probably be safer. Ugh. Mornings." He wrinkled his nose. "The forest better appreciate this."

Lydia rolled her eyes. "If you're gonna be such a baby about it, take a nap after."

Jackson snorted. "Like you ever get up before noon on a weekend."

Lydia flipped her hair dismissively. " _I'm_ not the one complaining, though."

"Okay, I gotta ask," Jackson said, turning to face Stiles. "You can seriously talk to _plants_?"

Stiles nodded. "I'm not sure how I could prove it, but yeah. The lavender in my backyard has been super helpful. Most of the houseplants asked me to shift their positioning for them. And the trees... I really can't explain the dread coming from out there. It's..." Stiles shivered, unable to block it out for a moment. "It's horrible."

Jackson frowned. "I'm gonna take your word for it for now, but I expect proof once you find a way."

Lydia hummed. "I can talk to the dead, Stiles can talk to plants, we just need someone who can talk to animals now."

They both considered Jackson.

"Maybe Danny can," Stiles said brightly.

Lydia laughed.

* * *

Hours after Lydia and Jackson left, an unfamiliar howl tore through the air. Stiles stared outside, anxiety spiking before an answering calm washed over him from somewhere within the tangle of his pack bonds.

Stiles had a bad feeling about that howl. It sounded savage. _Victorious_.

Scott never did come over. Stiles glanced at his phone. Three missed (ignored) calls, a text message saying sorry, and no Scott on his doorstep.

Stiles decided to go to sleep early. For some reason, he was exhausted.


End file.
